Scott Series: Troubled Flight
by QuestRunner
Summary: After a routine mission, Scott runs into trouble piloting Thunderbird One back to Tracy Island. With a missile targeting his aircraft and the ocean far below, can the eldest Tracy brother regain control? Thankfully, he's not alone as John, Gordon and Virgil race against the clock to assist Scott in his time of need.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hey guys! Many thanks goes to the guest who pointed out that the sub Gordon pilots is called Thunderbird Four, not Thunderbird Three. I'm a new fan and have been having a blast learning all I can about these characters. Thanks again, buddy, for letting me know!

Scott scanned the skyline with a shrug of his shoulders. The familiar hum of Thunderbird One's engines massaged his back as he shifted her up a gear. He never felt more at home than when he was piloting the beautiful aircraft. With a contented sigh he activated his comm and addressed John with his usual clipped professionalism.

"Thunderbird Five, this is Thunderbird One. Permission to land." John's hologram hesitated before answering, his eyebrows raised in concern.

"Hold position, permission declined," came John's reply. The hologram momentarily vanished. Scott paused, confused. He was at Tracy Island—there'd never been an issue landing the bird before. Just when he was about to press John for details, his brother's image reappeared, all formalities aside. "Scott, I've notified Virgil and Gordon of your location. Don't move until they get there. ETA five minutes." Scott tilted his head to the side in thought.

"John, what's going on? Did something happen to Alan at home? Just give me five minutes and I'll have her parked and—"

"Scott, you're not at Tracy Island. You're flying above a remote area of the Atlantic Ocean. Do not attempt to land," the space monitor interrupted. Scott stared at him listlessly. John's voice shook slightly. "Stay with me. Keep talking until the others arrive. What do you remember about the mission?" The mission?

"Send me the coordinates. I'll be on my way," Scott replied, already punching in the controls. Hologram John placed his hands out in a calming gesture.

"You've already completed the mission. You were just on your way back to the island when you started to fly off course. It was a tough crisis, Scott. A massive landslide. Do you feel any discomfort or pain? Any injuries that you didn't notice before your takeoff?" John was met with the same blank stare from before.

"Not sure," Scott finally answered. He unconsciously rubbed his right wrist.

"I'm gonna bring the others on the line, okay?"

"FAB, Thunderbird Five," Scott answered mechanically. He tried to recall the landslide, but was met with a gaping hole in his memory. He didn't have time to dwell on that frightening realization as the holograms of Virgil and Gordon appeared on the console.

"You don't look too good, Scott. We're coming to you. Just hang on until we get there, okay?" Virgil said. Scott narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Alan? What are you doing flying Thunderbird Two? Where's Virgil?" The three younger brothers looked taken aback.

"Scott, I AM Virgil."

"This is Gordon. Scott, do you recognize me? Scott?" The aquanaut's question went unanswered.

"You're starting to descend, Thunderbird One. I need you to pull up," John ordered. When the pilot remained motionless, he continued. "Pull up or I'll be forced to do it for you." This seemed to shake Scott from his reverie.

"Copy that, Thunderbird Five. Readjusting my position now." The plane shuddered as Scott tampered with the instruments and deactivated the cloaking device in the process. The nose lowered a few more degrees, beginning the first stage of an arcing swan dive that would send Thunderbird One straight into the Atlantic's chilly depths. John was desperate, raising his voice over the comms.

"Listen to me, Scotty! If you don't change course right now, you'll crash. I'm taking over. Standby, do not touch the console."

"I can't read the controls. Why would Brains switch up my console without telling me?" Scott mumbled, his body listing forward against the restraints of his harness as John remotely accessed the aircraft and pulled it out of the free fall.

"It's gonna be okay. Just hold on," the second oldest brother said as he dabbled with a keyboard in front of him. He paused, his face stricken with terror. "A missile's targeting you, Scott. I'm gonna try to lose it. Virgil, Gordon, I don't care what it takes, push those Thunderbirds as fast as they can go. There's a submarine close by and it just deployed a missile. I can't get a lock on the sub. Gordon, you'll have to do that manually from Thunderbird Four."

"FAB," replied the duo as they cut communication. Virgil wouldn't dare admit it, but he'd wanted any excuse to turn away from Scott's dazed and delirious form, a far cry from the fearless leader that had led the landslide rescue and consoled the families of those whose loved ones hadn't survived the disaster.

The space monitor directed Thunderbird One into a series of evasive maneuvers, none of which dislodged the missile headed straight for the hull.

"Scotty, there's no way around it. You're going to get hit. There's a small landmass not far away. When that missile strikes, it'll temporarily override my control over Thunderbird One. That means you're going to have to take over for the landing. Do you understand? It's all muscle memory. You can do this."

"Dad? When did you come back?" Scott replied, rummaging his hands through his hair. "It's good to hear your voice again. Listen, Thunderbirds Two and Four are on their way here. My plane's gonna get hit." His breath hitched and he gripped the wheel tightly even though he no longer had control of the flight. "I need you to order them to retreat. I don't want to put them in danger." Scott's body started to tremble. Beads of perspiration poured down his face. John frowned but didn't waste time correcting him. He continued onward, taking his father's identity in stride.

"Negative, son. We don't leave one of our own behind. Your brothers are capable men. What I need from you is your undivided attention. Look at the controls. Can you land Thunderbird One?" Scott took an intake of breath to calm his nerves.

"The console's different. It was changed without my permission. The missile's going to hit Tracy Island, Dad. I have to land in the ocean. If anything were to happen to Alan and the others—" John watched as Scott started to panic as the landmass neared, its craggy edge reaching up to meet him like a dagger. He turned the wheel, setting his jaw when his beloved aircraft remained unresponsive in his trembling hands. "Tell them I'm sorry, Dad. I can't change the route. Thunderbird One is going to hit the house. Please, can John do anything? Can you have him crash my plane into the ocean instead?" John closed his eyes momentarily, quelling down the panic that was now rising in his chest. His oldest brother thought that the unpopulated landmass was Tracy Island and was asking—no, begging— for him to plummet his plane in the ocean in order to protect his family. Even in his fragile mental state, it was still the same selfless Scott. John cleared his throat and offered what little comfort he could before the impact. TEN.

"Don't worry about it, Scotty. No one's on the island." NINE. "You're going to be just fine. I'll get you as close to it as I can. You've got to land her, okay?" EIGHT.

"I can't remember the mission. Why can't I remember?" SEVEN. Scott pushed another hand through his hair, making it stand on end. SIX. "Thunderbird Five? Are you still there? Something's wrong with me. I think I blacked out for a second. Was I talking to Dad?" FIVE.

"I'm here, Scott. It's John. I'm going to be in contact with you the whole time," John said. He kept his voice level as the missile inched closer, seconds away from ripping control of Thunderbird One away from him. There was a heartbreaking silence as another second ticked away. FOUR. Scott's voice came through the comms, labored and weak.

"I'm sorry, John. I can't risk hurting International Rescue and damaging our base—our home. We've come too far. I know what I have to do." THREE. The fair-haired brother clenched his fist in desperation as he saw the resolve in Scott's face.

"Don't you dare crash into the ocean—whatever you do! Virg and Gords are on their way! Scotty—" TWO. The two eldest siblings locked eyes with one another. The space station had never seemed so far away.

"It's what Dad would've done." ONE. The missile slammed into Thunderbird One and a fiery explosion jostled the pilot in his chair. The plane veered to the side with a powerful lurch as it spiraled to its destination below. Scott angled the nose downward into a dive toward the deep blue expanse, even as the dizzying speed nearly rendered him unconscious from the force. At the last second his comm sputtered back to life and the gorgeous bird changed course against his will, careening instead onto a rocky cliff edge jutting out from the landmass. The impact was almost more than Scott could take as the mechanical body shuddered and bent, the metal twisting and grinding underneath him. When the broken rescue vehicle came to a final halt, John hailed Scott as fast as communications would allow. He knew Brains had built the birds to withstand such a crash, but he still gave a sigh of relief once he saw Scott disoriented but safe, held upright in his pilot's seat. John didn't want to think what would've happened if he hadn't been able to regain control of Thunderbird One at the last minute and reroute it onto the cliff. Thunderbird One wasn't equipped to operate underwater. It sent chills up his spine thinking that Scott—who knew his baby better than anyone—had tried to sacrifice his aircraft in the Atlantic waves.

"Scott, are you okay? Say something, nod your head, anything," John said. Scott gave a small nod, rubbing his wrist. Even through the hologram, the Thunderbird Five expert could see the faint tendrils of smoke enter the cockpit. "Your Thunderbird is still on fire from the missile. It's fine, you're not in any immediate danger, but I want you to evacuate and get outside. Do you understand, Scott? Take off your safety harness and make it outside."

"FAB, Dad," Scott said wearily. He fumbled with the harness that locked him tightly in place. John commed Virgil and Gordon on a separate line. It was a struggle to keep the panic out of his voice as he relayed the news.

"Scott's not doing well at all, Virg. I need you to help him out of Thunderbird One and check him over for injuries. Something happened between the time we finished the landslide rescue and while he was piloting his plane, and I want to know what."

"Understood. I've just arrived on scene. Preparing to land next to Thunderbird One now," Virgil replied, landing his own aircraft with the absence of his usual finesse in his haste to see to Scott's needs.

Virgil exited Thunderbird Two and took in the sight before him. He could tell that Scott's landing—or crash, rather—had been rough and unorthodox. The bird had skidded to a stop dangerously close to the cliff edge and the sheer drop below into the churning waves made Virgil's heart skip a bit. The island was small and rocky, filled with dips and hills of sparse vegetation and jagged peaks. He shouldered his med pack and made a beeline for the fallen bird.

John directed his attention to the blonde younger brother who waited for his next instructions in Thunderbird Four.

"Gordon, I need you to patrol the island. I couldn't lock on to the submarine from earlier, but it could still be nearby. When Virgil has Scott aboard Thunderbird Two, I'll have you take a closer look at Thunderbird One and see if we can find anything for Brains to inspect from the missile." Gordon nodded tightly and tried to hold back the tears that threatened to roll down his face. The space monitor attempted to console him with a small smile. "Trust me, Gords, it's gonna be fine. Scott just got confused. We'll sort this out. I'm sure it won't be long before our big bro is back to normal." Gordon still didn't seem convinced but gave another nod anyway.

"FAB, John."

"I'm here if you need me, Gords. I'll keep you informed at all times. Let me know if you find anything down there—especially that sub." He cut connection with the aquanaut and allowed his comms to roam back to Scott who'd managed to release himself from the pilot's chair and now stood shakily in the cockpit. Virgil entered moments later and gripped his brother by both shoulders, looking him over.

"Scott, do you know where you are?" When Scott's eyes roved past him, the second pilot gave him a gentle shake. "Look at me, Scotty. Do you know who I am?" Scott looked at Virgil, hesitated for a moment as if debating, then said, "Virgil."

"Very good," Virgil said with a ghost of a smile. He pressed his hands against his brother's head, neck and spine, checking for injuries that would prevent him from safely exiting the fallen plane. Finding none, he nodded in satisfaction. "Okay, Scotty. I'm gonna take you back to Thunderbird Two. We'll chat, have some snacks and make our way back home. Whaddaya say?"

"But I destroyed home, Virg. Dad's going to be disappointed in me. I let him down." Virgil flinched at the mention of their missing father. John's debrief had been short and concise—he hadn't mentioned anything about Scott talking about Dad.

"What are you saying? Dad could never be disappointed in you," Virgil said. He prompted his brother away from the cockpit as they made to leave the smoky husk of the aircraft behind. Scott withdrew from his touch in pure Scotty bull-headed fashion.

"I disobeyed him. He wanted me to land on Tracy Island but Virg…I didn't want to. I couldn't. I tried to crash her in the ocean but I must've miscalculated." The blue-eyed pilot took a few deep breaths as Virgil put a comforting hand on his shoulder and led him towards the hatch. "I don't feel right. Am I running a fever? Maybe Virgil would know. We should ask him. Hey Alan, why are you flying Thunderbird Two?" Virgil was about to reply, his heart breaking as Scott called him Alan for the second time that day, when John's voice crackled through their comms, his voice urgent.

"THERE'S A SECOND MISSILE HEADED STRAIGHT FOR YOU! SCOTT, VIRG, GET OUT OF THERE NOW—" Scott felt his body pitch backward from the unexpected explosion and saw stars as his head hit the wall with an audible thud. Thunderbird One tilted precariously on its side as it hovered against the cliff edge, consumed in fire. "I DON'T HAVE REMOTE ACCESS TO THUNDERBIRD ONE! DO WHATEVER IT TAKES, GET OUT!" John's cries fell unheeded as the burning aircraft finally pitched over the edge and into the churning waves of the ocean below.

John attempted to contact the fallen brothers but heard no response from either. He was about to alert Gordon when the blonde commed him instead, his voice breathless with excitement.

"I found him, John! I found the submarine. In pursuit now."

"Gordon, wait—"

"I can catch him. Give me a little more time. I'm gaining on it."

"Gords—" John tried again, only for the aquanaut to brush his words aside.

"Almost there. Just a few more feet—"

"GORDS! STOP!" John demanded. "I'm calling off the chase. Return to Thunderbird One." Gordon bristled at the terse command and, in a rare act of defiance, chose to disobey John's orders.

"I almost have him! Give me one more minute!"

"We don't have a minute, Gordon! Disengage." When his younger sibling wavered, John pressed him further. "Don't test me. Not today." His attention was momentarily redirected as his recent scan on Thunderbird One flooded the screen with information. Communication, audio and video feeds were down. Extensive body damage. Limited air reserves. He scrolled past the jarring details until he found what he was looking for: coordinates. A natural plateau deep under the surface had finally stopped the bird's descent. He committed it to memory as he turned to face Gordon's hologram. Gordon, however, had continued with his pursuit, pulling Thunderbird Four further away from the wreckage that held Virgil and Scott captive. A streak of anger burned through John's chest at the blatant disregard. His usual calm disposition shattered; he unleashed his full fury on the aquatic expert.

"Gordon, I can and will take control over your Thunderbird, whether you're physically and emotionally capable or not. Thunderbird One was struck by a second missile. Virgil and Scott are trapped inside. Turn. Back. NOW." John saw Gordon's hologram stiffen at the news.

"But what if the sub releases another missile? Or targets them again? We can't let it escape! I'm so close, John!"

"We don't leave family behind!"

"Virg can look after Scotty for a bit longer, please, just another ten seconds! I'll be able to put a tracker on it at least and—" The communications specialist raised his voice in heated anger.

"Your BROTHERS are trapped underwater and you're the ONLY one who can reach them in time."

"They're underwater? But weren't they just—" John refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation. He knew he was to blame for Gordon's confusion, as it was his responsibility to update him on the specifics, but the situation rattled him more than he cared to admit. And for someone who handled emergencies and dangerous rescues on a daily basis, he rarely became rattled. He did not have time to apologize or ask Gordon nicely.

"With Scott and Virgil out of commission, I'm the acting field officer and you will follow my instructions," he snapped, the warning evident under his steely tone. "I'm sending you their coordinates now. You will retreat, as ordered, and aid in extracting Scott and Virgil from Thunderbird One." John sent him the information with detached movements. Gordon acknowledged their arrival with a curt, "FAB" before splitting from his intended target and piloting the aircraft toward the island. The space monitor resisted the urge to rub his temples and stop the headache from morphing into a full-blown migraine. He could live with an angry brother. But he couldn't live with the absence of two of them. He attempted to contact his trapped brothers again in vain. Either the signal wasn't getting through somehow or they were too incapacitated to answer. "Hurry up, Gordon," he muttered to himself as he observed Gordon's route to the wreckage from the interactive computer screen.

Pain. Dull, aching, consuming pain. Scott groaned and lifted a hand to his throbbing head. His vision blurred from the effort.

"Scott? Are you awake? Scotty?" Scott blinked in surprise. He turned to the source of the noise and saw his dark-haired brother slowly picking himself up from the strewn debris of the cockpit.

"Virgil? What's going on?" Scott asked. A chill ran up his spine until his entire body shook from the cold. He noticed water seeping in from the walls, coating most of the floor in a liquid blanket. Thunderbird One. Had something happened to his beloved bird? Before he could voice his concerns, Virgil was beside him in an instant. Scott managed to prop himself up on one elbow and winced as another wave of pain coursed through his skull. The younger pilot inspected the tender knot on the back of Scott's head.

"Scott, are you with me? Do you know who I am?"

"I'll be fine, Virg, I just hit my head," he replied. He attempted to get to his feet only to stagger aimlessly as the structure groaned and shifted. The metal screeched in protest and more water burst through the widening seams of the cockpit. Virgil kept a firm grip on his charge and forced Scott to meet his gaze.

"Do you know where we are?"

"Thunderbird One," Scott said without hesitation. Virgil's frown lessened slightly.

"Good. What's the last thing you remember?" Scott forced himself to think past the unrelenting headache.

"An emergency…a landslide of some kind. Virg, this is all well and good, but shouldn't we focus on getting out of here? Are we underwater? And who's responsible for wrecking my baby?" The frown shifted into a relieved smile as the broad shouldered man clapped Scott on the shoulder.

"It's good to have you back, Scott. You had us worried there for a minute." At Scott's renewed confusion he shrugged. "I'll explain later. Right now we need to escape before this entire thing caves in from the pressure." He tried to activate his comm with no success. "My comm's out. It must've busted when I hit the back wall." For the first time Scott noticed Virgil holding his right arm protectively against his chest. The Thunderbird Two pilot dismissed Scott's concern with a small grin.

"It's nothing us Tracy brothers can't handle. I've had worse. Like grandma's cooking."

"Don't let her catch you saying that," Scott chided. He reached for his own comm. The connection was weak and sluggish and it took multiple tries until he was able to lock onto Thunderbird Five's signal. John, at the sight of Scott and Virgil, let out a shaky breath and ran a hand across his face.

"You can't imagine how good it is to see you both. Virg, how's Scotty holding up?"

"He's fine, back to the old Scotty we know and love. Worried about Thunderbird One more than himself. Typical." The smile that lit up John's weary face was a welcome sight.

"FAB, Virgil. I'll let Gordon know. He should be at your location in two minutes." A tinny screech interrupted the reunion as an icy spray of water from the ceiling showered its two occupants, eliciting cries of surprise from both.

"Tell him to bring blankets. Lots of blankets," Scott said. His teeth chattered from the cold that threatened to numb his limbs. The duo shuffled to one side of the cramped interior in an attempt to avoid the icy droplets of water. Scott rummaged through the back compartment and pulled out two spare helmets. The brothers fitted them on with trembling hands. "We have breathing apparatuses in case we lose this air pocket. Putting them on now."

"Copy that. Hang in there." John switched frequencies and spoke with Gordon in his familiar, steady manner. John's words from earlier still stung but he pushed those feelings aside and confirmed that he had the plateau in sight.

Gordon approached the crippled cockpit with apprehension and let out an exclamation when he saw the damage up close. The plane was battered and crunched, barely recognizable from the charred holes ripped along the side. He could see the air bubbles rising from the cracked exterior and his heart sank. Water was entering the sub—fast. He edged as close as he could to the plane.

"I'm going to attach clamps onto the side of Thunderbird One and secure Thunderbird Four in place," Gordon relayed to John. He activated the two mechanical claws from his sub and anchored them into the outer shell of Thunderbird One. With his vessel steady, he directed his full attention to the visible entry and exit points along the plane. Grimacing, he added, "From what I can see all the hatches are crushed. There's only one way to get inside. I'm going to have to cut a hole from one of the weak spots and go in from there." Gordon had already dived into the water when he heard John's voice from the comms.

"You only have a couple minutes, Gordon. Their suits aren't designed for these underwater temperatures. If they become submerged—"

"Understood. I'll make it quick."

The water quickly reached Scott and Virgil's waists as another stream of icy mist burst from somewhere above. Virgil's legs nearly buckled underneath him and Scott managed to keep him upright even as his own body protested the movement. The hull gave another dismal moan.

"G-Gordon, how's it c-coming along?" Scott asked. His breath caught as the water raised a few more inches.

"Nearly there. Another thirty seconds and I should be through."

"F-FAB. J-John, you getting this?"

"Loud and clear, Scott. When you have a clear path to Thunderbird Four, take it. The sooner we can get you out of the water, the better—" Both pilots staggered as a wall of crushing water suddenly flooded the cockpit and dragged them under. The shock almost knocked the air from Scott's lungs and he fought against the rising panic. There was a reason why he favored the open skies, he thought numbly, as the water twisted him into a series of dizzying circles until he no longer knew which way was up. He was so disoriented that he barely registered Gordon squeezing himself into the aircraft and reaching for his tumbling form.

"Relax, Scott. I've got you," Gordon said as he hooked a hand around Scott's utility belt. He gave a hand signal to Virgil to follow his path out of the cockpit. The swim was slow and arduous as the two older brothers willed their freezing arms and legs to paddle through the swirling water. Once Gordon had guided them out of the open wound of the plane and deposited the shivering duo into the safety of Thunderbird Four, he regained his place at the helm and began their ascent. The vehicle lifted upwards and away from the sunken abyss that proceeded to tear Scott's beautiful bird to pieces.

"Gordon, I'm getting Thunderbird Two in position above you. I'll pull you up once Thunderbird Four breaks through the surface. After you check on Virgil and Scott, I'll transfer control of Thunderbird Two over to you."

"FAB. Coming topside now."

"B-be careful w-with my Thunderbird, G-Gords," Virgil stuttered. He tried to hide the tremor that pierced his body from the cold. "L-last time you d-drove it in training y-you scratched it!" The blonde flashed him a smile, showing just a hint of his usual chipper attitude.

"Relax, the scratch was there before I flew it."

"N-no it wasn't! It w-was perfect!"

The pair bickered good-naturedly, diffusing the tension, as John lowered the cables from Thunderbird Two and attached them onto Thunderbird Four from the air. They felt the slight pull as the submarine locked firmly in place in the belly of the green flight vehicle. Gordon ushered his brothers into the larger aircraft, stopping momentarily to toss them each a set of heated towels from their onboard supply locker. Scott pressed his face into the lush material with a deep sigh before flopping into a spare seat.

John and Gordon exchanged a few curt responses once Tracy Island came to view, but the eldest sibling was too exhausted to notice the strain between them. Virgil, however, after glancing over at Scott's weary but relaxed form, approached Gordon. He hugged the heated towel closer over his shoulders.

"Gords, is everything okay? Did something happen between you and John?" He saw the usually steady hands grip the wheel tighter.

"It's fine, Virg. It's nothing." The words were forced, almost mechanical. Virgil frowned, about to press the issue, when Gordon continued. "Hey, good job out there today. First the landslide, then this…it wasn't easy. Don't worry about anything. Once we land, you two get some rest. I'll let Alan and Kayo know what happened and we can all reconvene in the morning." The speech was unnaturally mature for the inherent prankster and signaled the end of their conversation. Virgil left Gordon to his thoughts and returned to Scott's side. Scott opened his eyes a crack and attempted a smile but his expression remained apprehensive. He rubbed his right wrist absentmindedly. "I'm starting to get the feeling that I'm the one who crashed Thunderbird One. Why would I do that? Did I pass out at the wheel? It certainly feels that way." Scott touched the back of his head with a grimace.

"It's been a long day. Just enjoy the ride until we get home." Scott nodded. As much as he wanted answers, he could sense Virgil's reluctance to discuss the topic and gave in to his wish.

"Understood." He scratched his wrist again and a flicker of annoyance crossed his features. "I must've scraped my wrist against something. It's really starting to itch."

"Well don't make it worse," Virgil scolded and slapped his hand away. "Let me take a look." He lifted Scott's wrist to his line of sight and narrowed his eyes.

"This isn't a scratch. It looks like…a puncture wound." Scott yawned, closed his eyes and nestled back against the warm towel encircling his neck.

"Well, whatever it is, it hurts. I'll just add it to the list of all my other aches and pains—"

"Scott." Virgil interrupted, his face serious. "It looks like you were pierced with something. My guess is a needle of some kind." Scott's eyes flickered open immediately, all sense of relaxation gone. He glanced at his wrist a second time and sighed.

"Now I remember. That must've been it. At the time I thought it was a bee sting." Virgil leaned forward with interest.

"Did this happen at the landslide?" he prompted. Scott nodded.

"It was after we'd cleared the rubble and rescued the civilians trapped underneath. While I was walking to my Thunderbird a man came up to thank me personally for the help. He said he was a family member of one of the victims. I shook his hand, felt something sharp and…" The brothers exchanged glances.

"I think we might've found the source of the problem," Virgil said as Gordon prepared to land.


	2. Chapter 2

Scott opened his eyes blearily and pressed a hand to the back of his throbbing head. His vision adjusted slowly to the dim light. He fisted his hands into the familiar quilt and took in the pungent smell of burnt cookies heaped on the bedside table. USAF memorabilia held a coveted place against one wall while pictures and information pertaining to International Rescue dominated another. He was in his own room.

The elder Tracy's head felt heavy and it took him a minute to organize his scrambled thoughts. There was an emergency of some kind. He remembered mud; lots and lots of mud. Oh, right. The landslide. And then…Scott lifted his bandaged wrist with interest. He'd been talking to Virgil about some sort of injury on his trip back in Thunderbird Two…THUNDERBIRD TWO? The pilot shot up in bed despite the searing headache, knocking over the plate of cookies in the process.

"Whoa, easy there, Scott," Virgil said from a seat in the corner as he rose to stand by the bed. A sling was wrapped across Virgil's shoulder, which kept his injured forearm steady.

"Thunderbird One!" Scott managed to say as he flung off the covers and made a beeline for the door. Virgil intercepted him.

"Listen, Scotty—"

"Please tell me that my Thunderbird isn't submerged underwater." This remark drew a humorless laugh from his younger brother.

"Would it make you feel better if I said it wasn't?" Scott gave an audible groan and flopped back on the bed in defeat.

"I crashed her, didn't I?" The words were half mumbled by the pillow that hid Scott's face from the world. Virgil took a step forward then withdrew his foot as he stepped on one of the burnt cookies and broke it in two. He brushed the crumbs off his sock before adding, "Hey, it's not your fault. If it hadn't been for that missile—" This got the pilot's attention and he nearly threw the pillow across the room in anger.

"MISSILE?! Someone hit Thunderbird One with a missile? Why?"

"Well, that's a…it's a long story. And it's one you might want to hear from John first," Virgil said with an encouraging clap on Scott's shoulder. He tapped his comm. "John, it's Virgil. Scott's awake." John's hologram appeared in Scott's room. The redhead gave the eldest brother a smile.

"Well, look who finally decided to wake up," he said. "How's the head?"

"Could be better," Scott admitted. "Especially since I can't remember how I bumped it in the first place." Virgil and John shared a knowing look as Scott started to pick Grandma Tracy's home cooking off of the carpet.

"About that, Scott. You probably won't remember much of anything since the landslide," the space monitor added, garnering Scott's full attention. He unconsciously dropped a cookie back to the floor. John continued with a sigh. "You were injected with a narcotic of some kind. Brains is still analyzing the components. It wasn't pretty, Scott. Whatever it was, it was fast acting and interfered with your ability to pilot the plane." Scott put a hand to his temple in a feeble attempt to rid the pounding in his head.

"Yeah, I definitely don't remember that." He paused and looked at his brothers' solemn faces, John's in particular. "I know that look, John. What is it?" The astronaut sighed wearily.

"A hunch. Let's hope that's all it is," he replied. "In any case, it's important that we debrief you on exactly what happened during the flight. It's possible that talking about it out loud will trigger memories of what you experienced while under the effects of the drug. It's a long shot, but if we can stop this from happening to someone else, then it's a chance we have to take."

"Understood," Scott said. He frowned when Virgil turned away from the discussion and placed his hand on the doorknob. "Virg, where are you going?" The Thunderbird Two pilot hesitated before answering.

"Just getting you some breakfast, bro." With that, the younger sibling was gone. Scott stared at the closed door in shock.

"He's not getting me breakfast."

"Not likely," John admitted. Scott resisted the urge to charge into the hallway and haul his middle brother back inside. "Out of all of us, I think Virgil is taking this the hardest. There was a moment when he was with you in the cockpit and you weren't yourself. It really scared him."

"And what about the others? Alan and Gordon? Kayo? Brains?" A glance at the cookies. "Grandma?"

"Alan and Kayo are already working with Brains to see if they can use your blood sample to isolate the drug. Brains thinks he can locate its source by the day's end. Alan took the news better than expected. Him and Kayo sat by your bedside for a few hours last night. They were watching your old StarGate reruns—you should've heard them. I'm pretty sure that at one point they forgot you were even in the room." Scott smiled.

"And to think he always used to make fun of me for those. Said that they were just an Air Force thing."

"And you know how tough Grandma Tracy is. I wouldn't be surprised if she was still in the kitchen, cooking up Scotty's Top Ten Favorite Dishes." The eldest Tracy's stomach growled despite himself. He hoped, rather desperately, that Virgil would hold true to his promise with a proper breakfast.

"And Gordon?" A pause. John ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't know. He hasn't answered my calls," he said. Scott could tell that this deeply troubled John, even if his brother was too stoic to admit it.

"That doesn't seem like him. Do you want me to talk to him?"

"No, it's fine. I'm sure it'll work itself out." Scott didn't seem convinced. He made a mental note to check up on the swimmer later that day. But, for the moment, he didn't press the issue. John finally prompted him with an, "All right, Scott. Are you ready to talk about what happened? If not, we can leave this conversation until tomorrow." Scott released a sigh. As much as he dreaded filling in the blanks in his memory, it had to be done. Sooner rather than later.

"No. Let's do it now. We might uncover something useful to Brains' investigation."

"Good to hear. I'll start with the obvious. What do you remember?" John asked. Scott recounted the landslide rescue and the man who'd approached him and shook his hand before takeoff.

"The next thing I know, I'm waking up in Thunderbird One with Virgil and a headache the size of our underground hangar," Scott confessed. John pursed his lips in thought as he swiped through a few screens on his tactile monitor.

"Based on the limited information we have from Brains so far, it looks like the drug would've worn off on its own, but the bump to the back of your head might've helped speed that along. Do you remember arriving at Tracy Island in Thunderbird Two?" the astronaut asked. Scott scrunched his eyes in concentration.

"Ugh. I've got nothing. I was speaking to Virgil about my wrist, I know that much. Did I forget something else?" he moaned.

"Nah. You fell asleep the moment Gordon set the plane down. We figured it would be best not to wake you. I was just trying to see if you'd make something up," John said with a laugh.

"Very funny," Scott smirked and he swiped his hand through John's hologram in retaliation. "Just wait until you make it back to Earth."

"I've got about two more weeks in nice, comfy solitude before that happens," John replied easily. "And I think you owe me for the scare you put us all through. A couple beers at least." The duo laughed; a light moment before delving into a topic much darker. Scott straightened his back and put his hands on his knees in preparation.

"Okay, John. What happened?"

"Well, for the first five minutes or so after takeoff, you were fine. And then things started to get strange. You were preparing to land at Tracy Island."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"While you were flying across the middle of the ocean." Scott scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Yeah, that's pretty bad." John regarded him with a comforting smile.

"Hey, I stopped you from doing anything reckless. But by the time I got Virgil and Gordon on the comms, you were having trouble identifying them. At one point you thought Virgil was Alan." John paused for a moment as the words sunk in. "You okay, Scotty?"

"I really called him Alan?" Scott said, stealing another glance at his bedroom door. "I can't believe I did that."

"Look on the bright side. At least you didn't call him Lady Penelope," John said. This earned him a grin from Scott. The astronaut continued. "After that, you lost control of Thunderbird One. It's almost like you forgot how to fly the plane. I was able to access it remotely, but you'd deactivated the cloaking device before I took over. There was a sub in the water and it launched a missile." Scott nodded as he processed this information.

"Even without the cloaking device, it would take something technically advanced—on par with Brains' skill level—for a missile to even come close to hitting Thunderbird One," Scott said. John steepled his fingers in front of him in thought.

"I agree. The kind of technology only one person would be able to get his hands on."

"The Hood," Scott finished with a slump of his shoulders. "Do you really think he's behind it?"

"It certainly looks that way," John shrugged. Silence fell between them as bleak memories surfaced regarding their old nemesis. Scott was the first one to break from his reverie.

"Well, we don't know that for sure. We'd better have all the facts first. Like how Virgil ended up in the cockpit of Thunderbird One." The hologram gave a terse nod.

"About this next part, Scott…I—um. You called me Dad." Scott's breath hitched at the mention of their missing father. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment.

"John, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Really, it's fine. I'm kind of honored, actually, that I reminded you of him. What was it? My dashing good looks?" John's attempt at humor, however feeble, was working and Scott laughed.

"Ugh. First Virgil, then you. I'll never hear the end of it." Scott's smile suddenly faltered and he fidgeted with his hands in his lap. Dad. In a moment of weakness, he'd reached out to the one person he admired more than anyone else in this world. The one person whose disappearance had carved a hole in his chest that he just couldn't fill. The brothers shared an unspoken promise while John recollected the events leading up to that horrible countdown before the missile burned through Thunderbird One's hull. They'd never speak of that moment again. It was too painful, too raw, to think that John had to assume the role of their father and beg Scott not to sacrifice himself in the lapping waves. Undeterred, John continued, trying to end on a light note to rid the guilt cloaking his brother like a shroud.

"I managed to land Thunderbird One, no thanks to you. All in all, a very Scott move. Selfless to the last. I think that earns you a gold star."

"Remind me to put it on the fridge next to Virgil's sketches," Scott added, managing a weak laugh. Despite their age, Grandma Tracy always made a point to emphasize their accomplishments on the family fridge, no matter how small. Scott's dog tag was still pinned to the side by a gaudy pink magnet.

"Virgil landed on the island in Thunderbird Two after that and met up with you in the cockpit. While both of you were still inside, the sub deployed another missile and pushed Thunderbird One into the ocean. You must've hit your head during the blast."

"And then I woke up in a puddle of water with Virgil," Scott mumbled, shivering from the memory. How Gordon managed rescue after rescue in those freezing conditions, even with a dry suit, made him cringe. He resisted the urge to wrap the quilt on his bed around his shoulders. "Were you able to find out anything about that submarine?" John sighed.

"No. It was weird. I couldn't lock onto it's signal—tracking it from Thunderbird Five was impossible. Gordon spotted it, but…" John hesitated. "He got close to it, Scott. Really close. But I pulled him away from the chase. I had no audio or video feedback from Thunderbird One and I..." He stopped and looked away. "Well, it wasn't a popular decision. Maybe if I'd given Gordon more time, he might've found out more about the submarine and its connection with the man who approached you at the landslide."

"John." Scott said. "You did the right thing." He saw the weary hologram run a hand through his hair, a gesture the Tracy siblings had copied from their Dad.

"I know, Scott. Let's hope that Gordon can see it eventually, too."

The conversation lapsed into a companionable silence before John was hailed by GDF. The redhead winked in his direction.

"Sorry, but I've got to take this. Stay out of trouble, Scott."

"Just as soon as you give me that gold star," came the sarcastic remark. John rolled his eyes before disconnecting the signal. Scott glanced at his watch and grimaced. He'd slept in—later than usual—and had to fight back a yawn. Breakfast. That's what he needed. Food and good company, even if that food was misshapen and burnt beyond consumption. He slipped into his street clothes and peered out the doorway. His stomach whined loudly and he half expected Virgil to come dashing around the corner, tray in hand, piled with Scotty's Top Ten Favorite Dishes. No such luck. He descended the stairs, two at a time, and nearly stumbled into Kayo, who was busy scanning a set of blueprints in her hand, and an enthusiastic Alan who pulled his older brother into a one armed hug.

"Scott! Check this out! We've found something! Well, Brains figured it out, but we helped! Right, Kayo?" Alan glanced at the operative for confirmation.

"Affirmative. Brains was able to track the components of the drug back to this pharmaceutical company," she said, tapping the paper in her hands.

"That means we're one step closer to uncovering the truth," Scott said. He grinned and ruffled his younger sibling's hair. "Good work, you two." Alan squirmed under his brother's touch and snatched the plans away with a characteristic grin.

"Does this mean I get to go on a mission? I do, right?"

"Actually," Kayo interrupted as she retrieved the plans back from Alan's grasp, "I think that this mission requires a woman's touch." She tapped her comm. "Lady Penelope? This is Kayo. I'm going to need your help." Scott tried to slip away from the conversation, despite Alan's rising concerns about missing ANOTHER mission, when Kayo looped a hand around his collar and dragged him back to her side. "Nu-uh, Scott. Since you're currently grounded, I have a special task for you." The pilot ignored his stomach as it gave another growl of protest. He'd have time to eat later.

"FAB. Kayo. Lady Penelope. What do you need me to do?"


	3. Chapter 3

Scott took a seat at his usual spot on the couch and resisted the urge to yawn. He'd spent the past two hours reviewing data for Kayo and Lady Penelope's upcoming mission, combing through reports of the pharmaceutical company linked to the mysterious narcotic, and, finally, raiding the kitchen for a quick meal before the operation.

Originally, he was going to have Alan tag along with Kayo as backup, but a last minute rescue put a wrench in his plans. When Virgil was deployed to assist with a minor cave in, Scott had insisted that their youngest member join him in Thunderbird Two for the task, seeing as Virgil's arm was still injured—a minor sprain, his dark haired brother was quick to remind him—but the siblings obeyed without question. Scott knew it was slightly selfish to use the injury as an excuse because their resident painter could've easily handled the job himself, sprained arm aside, but after yesterday's fiasco he was nervous about sending one of his own on a solo mission.

As for Gordon, Scott had only seen him briefly that morning before the blonde headed outside, mumbling something about swimming a few laps while Virgil and Alan were away. A quick glance confirmed that Gordon had never entered the pool. Scott was debating whether or not he should check up on his younger brother when Kayo's hologram suddenly crackled to life from the wall and temporarily pushed his concerns aside. Kayo stood before the pharmaceutical company in question and gestured at its arching doors.

"I've sent you the last known floor plans of the building, when it was first constructed ten years ago. Something doesn't seem right, Scott. The parking lot is nearly empty, even though records indicate it's the biggest employer in the city. Take a look."

There was a pause as a holographic blueprint pixelated before his eyes. Curiously, the pilot swiped at the image and it compiled, rotating slightly at his touch. He expanded the picture until he found what he was looking for, mounted in plain sight.

"You're right, Kayo. Heads up. There are two cameras right above you, near the roof. Six more cameras attached around the building. They have the entire area under watch." Scott dabbled with the controls and frowned. "Only one entrance. No visible exits. Which means…" The pair locked eyes and Kayo, to her credit, offered him a lopsided grin.

"A secret underground lair? My favorite."

"It does have a certain villainous charm about it," Lady Penelope added. "Scott, can you access the cameras from your location?"

"Not without tripping their alarm," Scott admitted with a shake of his head. "But I do have the next best thing. Constant satellite feeds from Thunderbird Five with a perfect aerial view of the compound. If anyone approaches the building while you're still inside, I'll let you know."

"FAB, Scott. We'll be counting on you to be our eyes," Lady Penelope said. She turned her attention to the operative at her side. "A lovely day for a visit, wouldn't you say, Kayo? Why don't we say hello?"

"My thoughts exactly. Lead the way, Lady P."

The duo entered the double doors and disappeared into the lobby beyond. Scott lost visual of the pair, but Kayo and Lady Penelope's earpieces captured all the audio he needed to make up for his lack of sight. He heard the London spy approach the secretary's desk with a click of her shoes across the marbled floor.

"Good afternoon. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. My colleague and I are terribly sorry for our tardiness. Would you be so kind as to inform Dr. Erickson of our arrival?" The name 'Dr. Erickson' was only one out of five names mentioned on the pharmaceutical company's website with an accompanying bio as vague and nondescript as the company itself. No picture. No contact information. No archived records. This doctor was a blank slate, just as fabricated as his name.

"I wasn't aware that Dr. Erickson had an appointment scheduled," came the woman's tentative reply. Scott could almost imagine the secretary's indignant stare. "What is the nature of your visit?" As Lady Penelope gracefully deflected the question, Scott went to work referencing the floating blueprints at his disposal. The building had two wings connected by a set of elevators and an open atrium. He gave the 3D projection another spin, glancing over the countless rooms, when—

"There. The blueprints show a dead end in the western wing. It's the only hallway in the facility with four rooms instead of five. Looks like a good place to start our investigation. Kayo, you're up." The operative complied with an acting performance as impressive as one of her Thunderbird S barrel rolls. Scott heard her groan and lean heavily against the desk.

"My dear, are you quite all right?" Lady Penelope asked, with enough sympathy as to appear genuine.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a little light-headed, I suppose. This happens from time to time. Low blood sugar," Kayo explained feebly. "I was in such a hurry this morning that I forgot to pack a snack. Do you happen to have a vending machine nearby?" Eventually the frazzled secretary sent her away with a wave of her hand while Lady Penelope remained in the lobby. Once out of earshot, Kayo resumed contact with the Thunderbird One pilot.

"I'm in the western wing. I'd give it five minutes until our new friend gets suspicious."

"Then let's make the most of it," Scott said. "And Kayo? Nice work."

"Don't mention it. Always knew those drama classes would come in handy someday."

Scott guided her through the next series of hallways—as confusing and sporadic as any maze—until she reached the dead end depicted on the blueprints. The operative went to work running her hand along the wall, looking for a hidden door, a hidden switch, a hidden SOMETHING. A minute of tense silence, then—

"Got it! There's a hatch in the floor. Underground bunker, here we come."

"Be careful, Kayo. This is where my blueprint ends. You'll be going in blind. At the first sign of trouble, you retreat, got it? You have to promise me, Kayo." She gave a small laugh.

"I promise, Scott. Now, onward and downward."

He was about to scan the satellite imagery above the building when a stabbing pain crackled through his skull and nearly brought him to tears. It was so sudden that his breath caught in his throat and left him gasping until he was able to recover.

"Scott? Scott?! What happened? Are you okay?" Kayo hissed as loud as she dared. Scott rubbed a shaky hand across his face and winced as another sharp burst pierced his head.

"A headache. A bad one," he admitted weakly. He took a few deep breaths as the roaring pain lessened to a dull ache. "It seems to be going away. Go ahead, Kayo. The satellite shows that the perimeter is clear. And Lady P? Keep the secretary talking. We'll need you to stall for a few extra minutes."

"FAB," Kayo said reluctantly, but opened the hatch and began to descend a ladder that led to the underground chasm below. "Just let us know if it happens again."

Lady Penelope, ever resourceful, took the information in stride. She directed the conversation to the secretary herself, complimenting her nails, her hair, her coffee cup—anything to earn those extra seconds Kayo needed to learn more about what the company was hiding.

"Good, Lady Penelope. Keep it up," Scott said encouragingly as the blonde managed to keep the secretary engaged in conversation. He tensed as another flare of pain left him reeling but remained silent until it, too, receded into something manageable. He wouldn't compromise the mission because of a headache. Not while he had two friends in the field putting themselves at risk on his behalf.

"Scott, I've got something," Kayo said. Her audio was spotty, a testament to the layers of rock and concrete above her. "It's a laboratory of some kind. I'm sending images now."

The pictures flooded the holographic screen, all depicting a pristine lab of unknown purpose. Kayo kept a commentary of her search as she rifled through drawers and filing cabinets until—

"Oh God, Scott. It's here, it's all here. A log of your missions, a detailed list of your gear, a crude schematic of Thunderbird One…Someone's been studying you for months." More images morphed in front of his vision and his sudden intake of breath had nothing to do with the raging war inside his head.

He saw stacks of meticulous notes critiquing his equipment and formulating ideas of how they could be recreated. There were drawings literally stripping Thunderbird One to its core, piece by piece, in an effort to learn its weakness in design. And, most disturbing, there was an entire catalogue dedicated to Scott himself. He'd been researched like a lab rat from afar, his every decision recorded, his every action debated. His every success and failure tracked.

"Get everything you can, Kayo," Scott said, deeply shaken. A placating tone from Lady Penelope drew his attention back to the lobby.

"Oh, I'm sure my associate will return any minute. Come to think of it, she really looked rather pale this morning. Perhaps she just went to the bathroom to freshen up."

"You never mentioned your associate's name. Remind me again why you seek an appointment with one of our renowned doctors?" Lady Penelope weaved a seamless lie, marred only by the slight pitch of her voice. Scott grit his teeth through another stab of pain.

"Kayo?"

"I need more time. At least five more minutes," Kayo pleaded through the static. "Find a way to stop her." However, despite her best efforts, Lady Penelope couldn't delay the secretary any longer.

"Please, there's no need to call security," the London spy continued. "In fact, I bet she's on her way back right now."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Our policy states that all visitors must remain within the lobby unless granted a pass. I'm sure you understand."

"How's it coming, Kayo? Think you can speed it along?" the pilot pressed.

"Please, Scott. Just a few more minutes. It's not just you. They—it's Virgil. They also have information on Virgil. I think they plan to go after him next."

No. Please, no. Not his family. As disturbing as it was, he could accept the fact of being dissected and studied by these faceless ghosts. But his brothers? The thought nearly made him vomit. Scott punched in the company's direct line and heard the secretary pick up the phone with a resigned sigh.

"Weston Pharmaceutical Company, how may I direct your call?" He could almost imagine Lady Penelope's sigh of relief at his blessed intervention.

"Oh, no need to transfer my call. You're just the person I wanted to speak to," Scott said icily. "I'd like to file a formal complaint. And if you so much as hang up from the line, I'll call back, again and again, until you resolve my problem." He had no reason to hide the raw anger from his voice that made his words shake and tremble like a growing storm.

"I can take a message and direct you to our human resources department—"

"I'm not getting off this line," Scott continued. His breath hitched as another ice pick stabbed his brain. His vision swam and a fresh wave of tears rolled down his face. _Hurry, Kayo. Please hurry._

"If you continue in this manner I'll be forced to end the call."

"Either help me now or help me later. Your choice." Scott massaged his temple with a shaky hand.

"Goodbye, sir."

"Look here—"

Click.

Scott cursed. He dialed the number, over and over, and every time his call rolled into the secretary's voicemail recording.

"Kayo, get out of there, NOW. We're out of time. You need to GO," the eldest Tracy ordered while Lady Penelope greeted a handful of uniformed guards that approached the front desk.

"Ah, hello, gentlemen."

"On my way, Scott. I'm coming up the ladder now."

"Faster, Kayo."

He heard the heavy footsteps as the guards made for the western wing with a worried London agent at their heels.

"I do hope she is feeling okay. Would you mind if I followed you out of the lobby?" The clang from the hatch reached Scott's ears as the operative lifted herself out of the dark depths below.

"I'm topside. Scott, tell me where to go."

"Take the first right. And run, Kayo. Sprint as fast as you can."

It was close. Too close. Even with Scott's directions, Kayo barely managed to make it back to the vending machine without suspicion. The sheen of sweat on her brow only confirmed their cover-up regarding Kayo's fragile health. The guards guided the pair back into the lobby where Lady Penelope politely excused themselves from the building and into FAB1 parked outside in the nearly empty lot.

Scott leaned back into the couch cushions in exhaustion. He swallowed past the lump on his throat and tapped his comm.

"Hey Scott, feeling okay?" Virgil asked. Scott ignored the question and tried to steady his voice.

"Are you almost done with the mission?"

"Yeah, Alan and I should be back in time for lunch. Why?"

"Come straight back, Virg. Something came up."

"Scott? Is everything okay? Scott?"

The next jolt of pain was instant and sent the eldest brother's world into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

"SCOTT!" The pilot felt his body jostle from side to side, thanks to a pair of hands at his shoulders attempting to return him to the waking world. "Scott, can you hear me? _Scott!_ " The shaking intensified until it elicited a groan from its victim. Scott instinctively tried to push the figure away. He fought harder when a heavy palm was pressed against his chest, keeping him grounded.

"Scott, easy! It's me." The voice was familiar. Reassuring. Virgil? Scott's jumbled thoughts provided no easy answer as to why his brother was at his side. "Hey, I got you. I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

"Virg…" Scott managed. He was with Virgil. He was safe. The eldest Tracy allowed his exhausted limbs to drop in silent relief, and very nearly succumbed to the sleep his body craved.

"Does anything hurt? Are you in any pain?" As if on cue, a dull ache settled at Scott's temples.

"My head," came the weak reply. Virgil braced the back of his older brother's neck and slowly assisted him into a sitting position against the couch. The pilot opened his eyes and tried to blink the fuzzy world into focus.

Virgil's soothing timbre continued, but the words merged and divided like a song on repeat, lulling Scott back to that blessed slumber. He allowed his head to dip forward and rested his chin against his chest.

"Oh, no you don't, Scotty," Virgil chided as he kept him steady. "Not yet. Bear with me, here. Are you feeling any worse?"

"Mmm," Scott acknowledged. His blurry vision sharpened gradually, bringing with it an unwelcome sense of vertigo that would've sent Scott crashing back to the floor were it not for Virgil's support. The medic prodded his abdomen.

"Just your head, huh? No trouble breathing? No chest pains?"

"No."

"What about your neck?"

"No." He felt Virgil's mild touch as he inspected the tender knot on the back of his skull. Even that brief contact sent another stab through his brain and Scott's body arched in a futile attempt to escape the painful sensation. Finding no reprieve, he eventually cradled his head in his hands.

"Hey, easy there, Scott. Rate the pain for me with one being the lowest and ten being the highest," Virgil instructed. The eldest Tracy's sluggish brain supplied the first number that came to mind.

"Three."

"Liar," Virgil snorted with a hint of his usual humor. "Try again." Scott took a deep breath.

"Eight."

"Better." Scott had closed his eyes again, relishing the comfort that the darkness provided. He expected a rebuke from the dark-haired pilot at his side, but instead the reassuring grip on the back of his neck tightened slightly. "I should've anticipated some sort of side effect. That cocktail in your system—whatever it's made out of, it's not pretty. I'm sorry, Scott. I should've seen this coming."

"It's okay, Virg," Scott mumbled. He was too exhausted to keep up with Virgil's commentary as his memories shifted against each other like splintered glass that refused to align. He had something important he had to tell Virgil…right? He rested his forehead against his younger brother's shoulder and shuddered as another headache overcame him. The headaches? Is that what he wanted to warn Virgil about? As if reading his mind, his fellow pilot asked the obvious.

"How many headaches have you had since the crash, Scott?"

"I don't know," Scott gasped. He was in too much discomfort to make a logical guess and hoped the ever-vigilante medic wouldn't press the issue. The eldest slumped against Virgil even more and earned another reprimand for his efforts.

"I need you awake, remember?" Virgil maneuvered his arm across Scott's shoulders and guided him to his feet. Scott swayed, but the Thunderbird Two pilot's grip kept him standing. "Med bay might be a little more comfortable than the living room floor."

"I don't know if I can make it," Scott admitted. Virgil chuckled.

"Well, you either walk or I carry you. Bridal style." This got Scott's attention.

"On second thought, I'll manage."

"Good choice."

The duo made slow work across the hardwood floor. Scott was too tired to let his pride interfere—at least when it came to walking—and leaned heavily into his broad-shouldered sibling for support. The simple act of moving seemed to clear his head as his once fragmented thoughts began to snap into place.

It was all coming back now. The pharmaceutical company. Kayo and Lady P's mission. The underground lab. Virgil…Oh, God. Virgil!

Scott's legs buckled and it was only the medic's quick reflexes that spared him from another encounter with the floor.

"You and Alan weren't hurt on the rescue, were you? You're okay?" It was then that he remembered Virgil's sprained arm, but if his brother was in any pain, he didn't show it.

"Better than you," Virgil replied, waving his older brother's concerns aside. "We'll debrief later. C'mon, let's get you squared away first." He ushered Scott into med bay where the Thunderbird One pilot immediately collapsed onto the nearest bed. Virgil dug through the cabinets with purpose, pausing once or twice to glance over his shoulder at his weary charge.

"Virgil, they've been watching us. Tracking our missions." Scott cringed at a sudden bolt of pain before continuing. "I think you're their next target. And if they go after you or any of the others, I—"

"Hey." Virgil retrieved an armful of items and sat next to Scott on the side of the bed, pulling him upright in a sloppy one-armed embrace. "We'll figure this out. Whatever it takes." He passed a cup of water and two pills into Scott's hands. "In the meantime, we've gotta get those headaches under control. Can't have you passing out on us again." He studied Scott carefully as he downed the pain pills in one gulp. Scott met his gaze with a slump of his shoulders.

"Did Alan—?" The question remained unspoken between them. Virgil shook his head.

"I dropped Alan off at Lady P's before I came back. Kayo had found some encrypted jump drives from the bunker and needed Alan's help to crack them."

"Thank God." Scott rubbed a hand across his face. He didn't relish the idea of Virgil finding his lifeless body on the floor, but he'd never wish that on his youngest brother.

"Listen, Scott, I'm gonna shoot straight with you. It's hard to tell what they injected you with, but I don't think they expected you to survive the crash." Scott broke eye contact with his brother to stare at the floor instead. Virgil continued, undeterred. "We still don't know the full extent of these side effects. I just want you to be prepared that these headaches might not go away for awhile."

"Or they might not go away at all."

"You don't know that," Virgil said, but the eldest caught the sleeve of his uniform and held him fast.

"I'm in no shape to lead, Virg. I've lost Thunderbird One. I'm a liability on the field—" Scott took a deep breath. "And I know those aren't the only two pain meds you'll be prescribing, which takes me off active flight. I want you to take my place as commander."

"Scott, you're still in control. A few headaches don't change that," Virgil protested. The pilot grimaced.

"I almost compromised Kayo and Lady P's mission today. It's a mistake I can't afford to make again. Please, Virg. I want you to trust me on this." Virgil responded by shoving a thermometer in Scott's mouth.

"Sorry, Scotty. Didn't quite catch that."

Scott's muffled retort was answer enough.

"Hey, be a good little patient and let me check your temp." Scott, still fuming, complied with a scowl. After a minute or so, the medic withdrew the thermometer and inspected the readings with a smirk.

"A slight fever, but nothing serious. Something a field commander should be able to manage."

"Ugh, I give up. Fine, I'll keep the title," the eldest groaned. He leaned back into the bed as the medicine started to take effect and quelled the throbbing agony in his skull.

"Hang tight. I'm gonna run a few tests and see if there's any other surprises we're missing in that thick skull of yours." Scott nuzzled into the plush pillow with a sigh.

"That gives me at least a minute of sleep before—"

"No sleeping, Scott. Doctor's orders." Scott tried to defy those orders, only for those same healing hands to press against that painful knot.

" _Virg!_ "

"Hey, look who's awake. You want to try that again?" Scott groaned at the typical Virgil response. He tried to think of any excuse to send his self-proclaimed bodyguard away, if only to snatch a few precious moments of sleep his body desired. He then remembered their resident aquanaut, which brought a newfound sense of guilt to his conscience. Gordon. He hadn't seen the blonde all day. Gordon might not be in a kumbaya mood, but there were bigger issues at hand than his ego.

"You're in luck, _bro_ , because your field commander just thought of a mission for you. Find Gordo for me. He got into some sort of fight with John. It's probably nothing, but—"

"Isn't Gordon out on a rescue?" Virgil inquired. "When I got in, Thunderbird Four was missing."

"John didn't say anything about an underwater operation," Scott mused. He suddenly set his jaw, a spitting image of their father. "Oh, God. He went after the sub." Scott made to rise from the bed, but Virgil sternly pushed him back down.

"He wouldn't be that reckless. Alan, _maybe_. But not Gordon. He would never try to pull that off on his own. Besides, wouldn't John have tipped us off? He's got eyes on all of the Thunderbirds." The two exchanged glances. Something was wrong.

"Call John and Gordon. _Now_ ," Scott ordered. He fought against the tide of drowsiness that threatened to pull him under. Virgil tapped his comm and tried to reach Gordon, but his summons went unanswered. He then switched frequencies to Thunderbird Five but, for the first time since the launch of International Rescue, the connection failed. Virgil, Scott's anchor of support, the voice of reason in the chaos, showed the first crack in his armor as he stared, unblinking, at the unresponsive wrist comm.

It was possible that Gordon was deliberately ignoring them—a small possibility, but one all the same. John, however, would never put his Thunderbird on standby unless…

"Get the QRH," Scott barked. Virgil tore from the room, heading to their father's vacant office for a copy of Thunderbird Five's Quick Reference Handbook. Scott finally had those spare moments alone he'd been praying for, but he'd long since abandoned any thoughts of sleep. Someone was waging war against his family. And he was going to find out why.


	5. Chapter 5

Scott poured over the contents of the QRH from his temporary hub inside the infirmary. At Jeff Tracy's insistence, he'd cross-trained as Alan's backup for Thunderbirds Three and Five, even co-piloting a few of his youngest brother's earliest missions before relinquishing the spot to Kayo.

He'd clocked in hundreds of flight hours for both vehicles, and—despite his ongoing joke with John stating the contrary—he was an accomplished astronaut. As such, preparing for space-related emergencies came with the territory. He'd remembered his Dad's words as he'd worked alongside Alan to learn the ins and outs of John's pride and joy in the sky. _Take care of this one, boys. It's the most important Thunderbird we've got._

And he was right. Thunderbird Five, the benevolent behemoth orbiting Earth, was the heart of International Rescue. It had to be protected at all costs. In fact, its emergency procedures were the most comprehensive out of all of the other rescue vehicles in their care.

Which left Scott scouring hundreds of pages, working past the building hurricane in his head, to figure out why John had shut the entire system down. It wasn't as simple as flipping a switch. The redhead had gone to great lengths to cut communication and render his Thunderbird virtually invisible. Even Virgil, swiping through the software on the tablet in his hands, was unable to locate John's familiar signal.

"Thunderbird Five's gone dark," Scott eventually muttered. He scanned the next few pages of the emergency manual with a shake of his head. "John's treating this like a Class 5 catastrophe. Total lockdown. No communication in or out. He's on his own." He flopped back on the pillow with a groan. The pain meds were only a temporary fix, as his headache returned with swift vengeance. Virgil snatched the heavy ordinance from Scott's bedside and continued reading where his older brother had left off.

The QRHs hadn't been transcribed for easy access on Tracy Island's computer system. No – this information was too valuable to be uploaded into cyberspace, even if it was hidden behind a firewall army. Scott understood the logic behind it but, if his dark mood was any indication, he couldn't help but feel that the manual pages were slowing them down.

What had caused John to take such drastic action? Did it have anything to do with Gordon?

"From what I can gather, John probably thought someone was trying to infiltrate Five from the outside. I don't like this, Scott. First you, now John…" Virgil closed the tome with a snap. "Their tactics don't make sense. What do these guys want?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I have a good idea," Kayo said from the doorway, arms folded across her chest. She entered with a certain blonde at her heels who immediately rushed to Scott's side.

"Virgil told me what happened! Are you okay?" Alan asked. Virgil must've clued Alan in while he was retrieving the QRH. Scott managed a smile.

"Getting there." The eldest may have fooled Alan, but he didn't escape Kayo's scrutinizing glare.

"You said you'd let us know if you had any more headaches, Scott," Kayo said.

"Yeah, but—"

"Do you know how worried Lady P and I were when we didn't hear back from you?"

"I just—"

"And now you're going to pretend like everything's okay?"

"Yes?" Scott flinched as the operative's catlike eyes narrowed. "I mean, no, uh—"

"Because this is NOT okay, Scott."

"Well, I—"

"We're a team. A family. And we can't keep secrets from each other. Got it?" Kayo paused in her fuming to place her hands on her hips. Scott, to his credit, met her gaze sheepishly.

"You're right, Kayo. It was selfish of me. I should've been upfront with you." He paused, waiting for her reaction. She pursed her lips.

"And?"

"And…uh, I'm sorry?" he stammered.

"And?" Oh, boy. He'd really crossed a line. The pilot wracked his brain for something—anything—to add. Kayo's features gave nothing away. Eventually, he settled on the truth.

"And my head is killing me. A lot. Do you think you can convince Doctor Virgil to give me something stronger for the pain?" He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Kayo's gaze soften. She allowed him a brief smile before shaking her head from side to side.

"Nope. We need you alert. Especially after what Alan and I have to say." Scott sat up a little straighter and worried the sheets beneath his fingers.

"Al?" he prompted the youngest Tracy. Alan took a deep breath.

"Kayo, Lady P and I studied the intel from the bunker. They called you Test Subject T.A."

"T.A.?" Virgil interjected.

"Thunderbird Alpha," Kayo explained. "They've got cute little nicknames for all of us, stripped from the NATO phonetic alphabet. Virgil, you're Thunderbird Bravo." She hitched a thumb at Alan. "Thunderbird Charlie."

"Let me guess. Delta and Echo for Gordon and John?" Scott wagered with a scowl. "And you must be Foxtrot." Kayo nodded in confirmation.

"Scott, they had a plan for you. A horrible plan," Alan continued, his voice cracking. "They wanted a public execution. Something live, broadcasted all over the world."

"But their timetable changed and they had to rush the job. They created the drug instead, expecting you to crash the plane. When that failed, they had their sub deploy missiles to end your life," Kayo added. She spoke flatly, as if shielding her emotions would lessen the cruelty of the words. It didn't. "The point is, the entire thing was last minute. Sloppy. These guys may have spent months mapping out your death, but they didn't pull it off the way they wanted. A certain Thunderbird Echo got in the way." Scott, who had been staring in mute frustration at his shaking hands, physically recoiled at the mention of the space monitor.

"John? How?"

"They underestimated Thunderbird Five's defenses. Believe it or not, Scott, you weren't their first target. It was John. They've been watching him twice as long. Fortunately, they've got next to nothing to show for it," Kayo stated smugly. "A victory in my book, at least." Despite the small space, Virgil started to pace the med bay in thought.

"They couldn't crack Thunderbird Five. So they were banking on something else." Virgil snapped his fingers. "Human error. They wanted John to mess up and give them an opening." Scott clenched his jaw through another burst of pain as the meaning hit home.

"My death. It was staged as a diversion so John would let his guard down and they could access Thunderbird Five. A dead leader and a hijacked Thunderbird. Two birds with one stone." The room fell silent. Scott fought the temptation to bury his head in his hands. It was all too much. A twisted conspiracy on top of two missing brothers? And here he was, helpless. Useless. A light touch on his arm calmed the worst of his fears as Kayo took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"You okay, Scott?"

"I will be."

Alan looked from one glum face to the other and knew it was time to raise their crumbling spirits. And with Scott temporarily out of commission, he felt obligated to pick up some of the slack.

"C'mon, guys. It's not THAT bad. I mean, let's be thankful that John is the best at what he does. They didn't underestimate the Thunderbird. They underestimated our brother. John willingly imprisoned himself on Five to keep our technology safe. He may be their main target, but he's also their wildcard. You said it yourself, Kayo. We saw the records. They hardly know anything about him. They ASSUMED. Which means we've still got the advantage."

Scott felt a surge of pride for his youngest brother. Alan was right. These nameless terrorists may have compromised Thunderbird One and its pilot, but they hadn't reached the orbiting heart of International Rescue. They hadn't reached John. And he swore with every fiber of his being that they never would. He locked eyes with the blonde and ruffled his hair, despite Alan's cry of defiance.

"Spoken like a true leader, Alan. We haven't lost the fight yet. Besides, John's the best astronaut out of all of us—in some ways, better than Dad. He'll contact us when it's safe," Scott said. He gestured to Virgil. "But they had their sights on Virg, too."

"I'm guessing it's not because of my charming good looks, either," the Thunderbird Two pilot stated with a snort. Both Kayo and Alan studiously avoided his gaze. He looked to Scott for answers, but the eldest only shrugged, also at a loss. "Okay, what are you guys not telling me? Al? Kayo?" It was the security specialist who replied with a sigh.

"They intended to capture you alive for…propaganda." It took Virgil a moment to speak.

"You mean blackmail." Virgil rubbed a hand across his face.

"Oh God, Virg," Scott muttered. The pain and anger washed over him anew.

"These people are sick. They were gonna kill Scott to get to John, kidnap me…Jeezus, Kayo. What did they have planned for you, Alan and Gordon?" Virgil asked, his usually gentle hands now balled into fists at his side. A pause, then—

"I don't know, Virgil," Kayo said. It was Scott's turn to give her arm a squeeze. "They had bios on us, but they were incomplete. If this really is the work of the Hood, then maybe dear old uncle wants me to bat for his team." The Tracy boys clamored around her in a protective circle.

"We would never let that happen, Kayo," Scott said, to the agreement of his brothers.

"I'd actually pay money to see you smash a right hook into his face," Alan added with a devilish grin. Kayo laughed.

"If you double down, I might throw in a couple roundhouse kicks just for fun."

The light mood was temporary, but it was a welcome reprieve from the nightmares that weighed heavy on Scott's shoulders. Blame it on the stress, the exhaustion, or the repeated pounding in his head, but he couldn't help but feel guilty for the orchestrated attacks against his family. After his father's disappearance, he'd suffered weeks of emotional turmoil. If he would've just buried his pain deeper and pushed himself harder then maybe none of this would've happened. By just a stroke of luck he was still breathing. He didn't know how soon his luck would hold before it ran out completely.

And suddenly med bay felt too small, too sheltered. Scott tried to rise to his feet only for Virgil's hand to push him gently back against the bed.

"I can't stay cooped up in here, Virgil! Whoever's behind this—Hood or not—wants to pick us off one by one. We have to DO something. And Gordon, God, he's still out there."

"I know, Scott."

"We have to find him," Scott persisted. The flare of pain reached new heights, whittling away the last defenses the pain meds provided. "Kayo, I need you to do a sweep of the island in Thunderbird S, in case Gordon just took his sub out a few miles from shore. Al, I need you to—" The pilot couldn't continue. He scrunched his eyes shut and reached out for someone—anyone—to hold on to while the pain took its course. It happened to be Kayo. She returned his embrace and he eventually slumped against her in exhaustion.

"Hold on, buddy," Virgil frowned as he dug through the cabinets.

"He's burning up," Kayo noted. Scott felt her cool hand brush against his forehead.

"I could really use those pain pills about now, Doc," Scott groaned. Virgil didn't bother turning around.

"Yeah, well, I already gave you the strongest thing we've got. Any more of that too soon and, well, bye bye Scotty." He passed a chilled washcloth to Kayo. "We've gotta get that fever down. Scott, I need you to drink some fluids for me. Can you do that?" The eldest gave a noncommittal grunt while Kayo wrapped the cloth around the back of his neck. "I'll take that as a 'yes.' Al, come here for a moment."

Alan made to leave Scott's side, when Kayo's wrist comm came to life. The Tracys froze, hopeful, expecting to see Gordon appear in the projected hologram. But the image was not that of their beloved brother.

"Hello, International Rescue," the oily voice said, accompanied by a matching smirk. Scott, still drawing support from Kayo, was the first to speak.

"The Hood."


	6. Chapter 6

"Ah, the leader himself. So you did survive. Barely," the Hood mocked as Scott clenched his jaw in silent agony. Virgil took a step toward the Hood's projection.

"You son of a—"

"Tanusha, you should really put a muzzle on that dog," their nemesis continued, disregarding the Thunderbird Two pilot with a wave of his hand. Kayo scowled.

"What do you want?" she demanded icily. His sneer never wavered.

"You know my answer, _Kayo_ , so let's stop with the pleasantries. I believe I have something that interests you." It was Alan who spoke next, beating both brothers to the punch.

"Sorry, but we don't make deals with criminals."

"Even when it concerns one of your fellow teammates?" The words stabbed through Scott's chest like an icy spear. Gordon. Oh, God. What if they had Gordon? His world dipped and swayed in dizzying circles and it was only Kayo and Alan's quick reflexes that kept his torso upright. The Thunderbird One pilot could only gasp, helplessly, as his worst fears were confirmed. The Hood laughed and dragged the aquanaut's disheveled form into view.

Gordon was gagged and restrained, hands pulled taut across his back. His wetsuit was torn and fresh scrapes were visible on the skin underneath. It hurt, deeper than any physical wound, sharper than any flash of pain in his skull, to see his younger brother at the mercy of this madman. Scott bit back Gordon's name on his tongue. He wouldn't offer the Hood further ammunition against his family.

"What have you done to him?" Virgil demanded.

"You really should be thanking me, you know," the Hood drawled. "After my associate ripped that yellow Thunderbird to shreds, he wanted to do the same to its pilot. I spared your teammate's life. How long my generosity lasts is completely up to you."

"How thoughtful," Kayo spat dryly. "Tell me. How many goons did our boy manage to take out before you forced him into those cuffs?" The Hood's leer faltered ever so slightly. He shoved the visibly exhausted Tracy to the ground and pressed the heel of his boot against his throat. Gordon groaned in response.

"Your _boy_ hasn't given us much of a fight since his injection. And only half a dose, too. Maybe I should give him the other half and see if he fairs as well as your commander."

As if on cue, another paralyzing crackle of lightning flooded Scott's brain, but he kept his eyes locked on the bruised body of his brother. To think that Gordon was enduring these same unforgiving headaches was almost too much to bear. A wild, desperate voice in the back of his head begged him to surrender and negotiate for Gordon's safety. But he couldn't give up Thunderbird Five. He couldn't give up John. If Five fell into the Hood's hands, its resources could be used to invade the GDF and initiate the next world war. _Take care of this one, boys. It's the most important Thunderbird we've got._ Scott felt a hand squeeze his shoulder gently, courtesy of Kayo.

"International Rescue doesn't take kindly to threats," Virgil spat. His entire body shook with barely contained anger. "Especially when it includes one of our own. You have a choice. You can end this, now. Or we'll be forced to end you." Their nemesis smiled coldly at the blunt words.

"Now who's resorting to threats?" The Hood applied more pressure to the boot heel crushing the aquanaut's neck. "You have a Thunderbird I want. I'm sure you can guess which one. Give it to me, and I'll hand over your pilot. Alive. You have ten seconds to answer."

"Never," Scott managed. The maniac shook his head as if scolding a young child.

"Not from you, Commander. I want to hear it from the youngest. Him." The golden eyes sought out Alan who returned the glare with equal intensity.

"Not a chance. If you think you can intimidate us, then you're stupider than I thought."

"You have five seconds."

"And I gave you my answer!"

"I wonder, what will happen if I double the dose? Triple it? Maybe he'll just fall unconscious and never wake up."

"You sick, twisted—!"

"Time's up, International Rescue," the Hood declared with a show of his watch. He yanked Gordon upright with such force that the blonde staggered.

"Hang in there. We're gonna bring you home," Virgil said, holding Gordon's gaze. Their younger brother gave a nod in confirmation. Down, but not out. Scott prayed with every fiber of his being that Gordon's spirit would be enough to protect him until they could fulfill that promise. He opened his mouth to speak—to say something, anything to console his sibling before unknown horrors stole him away—but the sound of deafening sirens ruined any chance of saying goodbye.

"The proximity alarms!" Kayo noted over the noise. Scott barely registered her words as the shrill whine triggered another attack. He clutched his head through a haze of nausea, fearing it would crack in two.

While Virgil rushed to Scott's aid, Alan and Kayo exchanged horrified looks. Tracy Island was compromised.

"It looks like my associate's arrived on scene, right on schedule. You'll find that the Mechanic is a lot less forgiving than myself. Until next time, International Rescue."


	7. Chapter 7

Virgil braced his older brother's slumped form as the Hood's hologram faded. He felt a slight tremor beneath his fingertips and took stock of Scott's flushed features.

"Scott, you still with me?" he asked. "Scott?" The Thunderbird One pilot failed to suppress another shiver and all but collapsed into Virgil's hold.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can stay awake, Virg," he mumbled weakly.

"Don't worry about it. If you can't keep yourself awake, I'll do it for you," Virgil countered. He flicked Scott obnoxiously on the nose as his eyes began to close, earning a glare from the eldest. Scott's annoyance quickly passed as another jolt of pain took its course. " _Virg_."

The word was barely above a whisper, but Virgil understood. Scott's earlier request—the one Virgil had deliberately ignored—was now coming full circle. And his older brother was counting on him to fulfill that promise. He sighed, but said what Scott wanted to hear.

"All right, Scotty. But this is just temporary, okay?" Scott muttered his thanks then lapsed into silence. Virgil took this as his cue to assume the role of field commander and addressed Kayo and Alan in Scott's stead.

"Kayo, how much time do we have until the Hood's friends arrive?" The covert ops specialist was already at work swiping through intel on Virgil's tablet and scanned the security feeds with a grimace.

"Not enough. The Mechanic's aircraft rivals Thunderbird One for speed. We have about five minutes, maybe six until he shows up."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Alan said, his usual vigor returning. "Let's launch the rest of the Thunderbirds and meet this guy head on!"

"Unless you've got some hidden weapons on that rocket of yours, we're not equipped to handle airborne combat," Virgil stated. "And we can't afford to lose any more Thunderbirds to that monster. So we do the next best thing."

"Which is?" the blonde asked, glancing from one daunting face to the other.

"We retreat." Virgil overlooked Alan's cry of protest and gave Scott a forceful nudge when he noticed him nodding off.

"But—we can't! Virgil, this is our headquarters. Our home! We have to defend it!"

"Alan." Kayo's voice was assertive, but gentle. "Virgil's right. We can't stay here. But we _can_ do something." She gestured at Scott's huddled figure. "We can get Scott to safety. If the Mechanic finds him—" Kayo's voice cracked. Virgil could only wrap his arm tighter around Scott's body as his brother, trapped in his own personal anguish, buried his head into his chest. Virgil tried not to finish the morbid thought, but the words shook him to the core regardless.

 _If the Mechanic finds him, he'll kill Scott without question. Or take him, alive, only to publicly execute him later._

The Thunderbird Two pilot swallowed past the lump in his throat as he made his final decision.

"Kayo, launch Thunderbird S immediately. I'll need a distraction, something to stall for time. I'll be following right behind with Scott in Thunderbird Two."

"FAB," Kayo acknowledged. She didn't wait for further instructions and, after sparing one last glance at their fallen commander, took off at a sprint for the hangar. Alan took a step in Kayo's direction.

"How much time do you need, Virg? Kayo and I can—"

"Alan. Hold on." Virgil jerked his head in the direction of the heavy ordinance on the table. "Take Thunderbird Five's QRH with you. You'll need it where you're going." Alan gaped at him.

"But I—" Alan's intention was clear as he half-heartedly reached a hand toward the eldest sibling, his unsung hero. Virgil shook his head.

"Alan, you're taking Three and plotting a course for Thunderbird Five's last known location. Call Brains, call the GDF, do whatever it takes, but find John."

"I can't just leave you guys here! What if the Mechanic—"

"Al, if there's anyone John would contact, it's you. In fact, I'm counting on it. Which makes your mission the most important one." Virgil's voice softened, losing some of its commanding edge. He felt the heat radiating from the limp torso in his arms and buried the weight of emotions that threatened to consume him. He could grieve later. Right now, his youngest sibling needed him to be the man that their father would be if he were here. Strong. Resilient. Uncompromising. "John might be the only one who knows how to find Gordon. It's time for us to get our space monitor back. I know you can do it, Alan."

Alan opened his mouth as if to refute the order, then squared his shoulders and gave a prompt nod.

"Okay, Virgil. I won't let you down." Alan hugged the QRH close to his chest, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then headed to his Thunderbird before his resolve shattered. Orders given, Virgil turned his attention back to the patient in his care.

Only a handful of days ago, he'd been running alongside Scott on the trails, discussing their upcoming 10k race. His oldest brother, in peak physical condition, ready to tackle the world. So different from the feverish sibling he now held close to his chest. And Gordon…

The one beyond their reach. Virgil pushed the thought from his mind. He couldn't do anything for Gordon, but he could do the next best thing. Save Scott. Virgil gave Scott's frame a firm shake.

"Eyes open, Scotty." The blue eyes opened slightly, unfocused, but the action was short-lived as those same eyes started to flutter and close. The Thunderbird Two pilot pinched him hard on the arm.

"Hey!" Scott grumbled from the unwanted contact. He continued to rest his forehead against Virgil's shoulder, fatigue stripping away any embarrassment he'd felt earlier from the simple action.

"I had to get your attention somehow," Virgil replied. "All right, buddy. Time's up. We're going on a little trip. And since you're not up to walking, you know the drill." The eldest Tracy visible cringed.

"If you pick me up bridal style I swear—" His sleepy objections went largely ignored as the medic scooped him effortlessly into his arms.

"You were saying?" Virgil added smugly, eliciting a baleful glare from the eldest. Anything to keep Scott coherent.

Scott rose to the bait, too nauseous to care. "Don't tell Kayo."

"Hey, no promises." Virgil traversed the threshold with his fuming charge in tow and made a beeline for the hangar, noting how the ground shook slightly, heralding the take off of Thunderbird Three. He tried to ignore the signs of family life—Gordon's jacket thrown over the back of a chair, Alan's laptop by the couch, a family picture hanging in the hallway—but it was an impossible task. Instead, he committed the images to memory and suppressed the ache in his chest. He could only pray that the Mechanic didn't burn the entire house to cinders in their absence.

"Virgil, we've got company," Kayo said via the audio link in Virgil's wrist comm. "Are you with Scott in Thunderbird Two?"

"Not quite. We're almost at the hangar," Virgil replied. He ignored the throbbing in his right wrist and forearm, an irritating souvenir from Thunderbird One's oceanic swan dive. Kayo's next words were grim.

"We've got about twenty drones up here, courtesy of our new friend the Mechanic. Alan just barely managed to dodge the worst of the attacks in Thunderbird Three during launch. If you try to launch Thunderbird Two now, they'll tear the ship apart before it even makes it off the airstrip."

"We'll have to risk it," Virgil declared as he picked up the pace. "Think you can provide that diversion?"

"Working on it. I'm certainly getting their attention. Heads up—four of the drones broke off and are heading for the house. They're coming in fast."

The sound of breaking glass confirmed her statement and Virgil took refuge in the closest room he could find.

Gordon's room.

Virgil kicked away piles of discarded dirty laundry before peering around the corner. A metallic droid resembling a lightning bug clacked across the hardwood floors, easily ripping the furniture between its powerful appendages. He noticed two more crawling across the walls, like dilapidated spiders, and had to quell the shiver that ran up his spine. Three drones in sight. As for the forth…well, he'd just have to chance it. The pilot risked a second glance out the hallway.

"All right, Scott. Looks like we're gonna have to make a run for it." He paused, waiting for a response. "Scott?" Nothing. _"Scotty."_ Another pinch. Another cry of annoyance.

"Virg!"

"You can thank me later," Virgil said bluntly. "We only get one shot at this. You ready?" Before Scott could form a reply, his sibling exited Gordon's room and made a break for hangar's entrance housing his beloved Thunderbird. The pilot caught a glimpse of metal out of the corner of his eye and changed course, throwing himself and Scott in a deep-set reading nook in pure desperation. Virgil held his breath as the fourth drone scurried past, fearing his pounding heartbeat would alert the monstrosity to their presence. Fortunately, the duo remained undetected as the drone continued onward. Through the walls, Virgil could hear one of the other mechs tear his lovely piano in two. He'd never felt such raw anger in his life.

His mother had taught him to play. It was HER piano! And for them to destroy the only solid link he still had to the woman who'd left his life too soon…Virgil suppressed the sudden urge to rush blindly into the living room and salvage what he could from the ivory instrument. Scott moaned in his grasp and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Virgil, I'm gonna be sick."

"Yeah, you said it," Virgil scowled. A cold pit settled in the base of his stomach and a small part of him started to mourn his mother all over again. "The way those MONSTERS just tore apart her piano like that—"

"No, Virg. I mean…Oh, God. I'm gonna puke."

"I know. Just the thought of those mechs even touching her things—"

"Virg." Scott managed a series of dry heaves that pulled his younger brother from his tirade. "I feel really sick, Virg." Virgil flinched as the sound of whirling clicks became louder. The fourth drone was doubling back. The pianist gave Scott a withering stare.

"Not the time or place, Scott! Can't you just…I dunno…hold it back until we get someplace safer?" Virgil knew the request was childish, but he didn't need Scott at his most vulnerable when their robotic sentry returned. Scott replied by giving in to his body's natural reaction to the nausea, missing Virgil's boots by inches. And then, his energy spent, Scott slumped to the side and closed his eyes. He didn't wake up.

" _Scott_ ," Virgil whispered, issuing the eldest a rough shake. _"SCOTT."_ His chest constricted as he started to panic. He threw Scott over his shoulder and rounded the next corner without considering the consequences. Of course. The laundry room. A glorified dead end and certain death trap if he couldn't find a way past the clicking mech. As if on cue, the drone entered the room that he'd been in only moments before. Virgil held his breath for the second time in as many minutes as he pressed his back against the washer and watched the entryway. It was close. Too close. He prayed that Scott wouldn't mumble in his sleep and alert the pacing predator of their whereabouts.

And then his comm sputtered to life.

Kayo's voice again, slightly breathless.

"I'm clearing my fifth barrel roll and third wingover. Virgil, we don't have a lot of time. I have five more drones on my tail and it's getting harder to shake them. If you're gonna launch, it'd better be sooner rather than later."

The clicking stopped, much like Virgil's fluttering heart. He'd been made.

"Make that six drones. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep them at bay."

The drone burst into the laundry room, eyes flashing red. Virgil dodged the swiping legs and carried his brother away from the chirping machine, but not before something sharp carved its way across his shoulder. He bit back a cry and dashed through the next two hallways with the metallic enemy at his heels. Kayo continued, oblivious to the danger.

"Virgil, I need an update. What's going on down there?" Virgil swore as a second drone joined forces with the first.

"Oh, you know. Dodging drones, same as you. If I can't make it to the hangar within two minutes, we'll resort to Plan B."

"Which is?" Kayo prodded.

"Improvise."

The pilot willed himself to run faster and passed his dad's room in the chaos. He hadn't set foot inside that room since…

He risked a quick glance over his shoulder and felt his blood boil as one of his pursuers broke rank and entered their father's domain. Virgil subconsciously gripped Scott tighter against his chest. He felt guilty. In their father's absence, none of them had found the strength to go through Jeff's personal possessions. Not even Scott, who Virgil had found lingering by the oak doorway on more than one occasion before losing face and walking away. And now Virgil, along with the rest of his siblings, had lost that chance. Jeff Tracy's belongings were now merely memories. Just like the piano.

Two additional drones dropped from the ceiling and gave chase, effectively blocking Virgil's route to Thunderbird Two and the hangar below. Something smashed against the small of his back and his legs nearly crumpled from the bruising impact.

"Uh, Kayo. Better go with Plan B," he gasped. Kayo's unwarranted silence rattled him more than the choir of mechanical beeps behind him. "Kayo? Kayo!" Nothing.

Scott was unconscious, fever burning out of control. John was absent. Alan was in the midst of his own mission. Kayo was out of reach. And Gordon…oh, God. Gordon. Virgil had never felt more alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Virgil bent over Scott's frame in mid-run to shield him from the flying debris. The once loving and happy home was now a glorified battlefield as additional drones blasted their way inside and gave chase.

Something sharp glanced off the back of Virgil's head and sent him staggering through the broken husk of his mother's piano. Guilt tore at his gut as he kicked the ivory keys aside in blind desperation. Scott. He had to save him. He had to keep fighting.

Virgil felt a warm trickle roll down the side of his neck and resisted the urge to brush the sensation away.

"Kayo! Kayo, answer me! KAYO!" Virgil shouted in vain. The comms remained quiet despite his pleas for help. He changed tactics, directing his panic to the older brother in his arms. "Scott, wake up. C'mon, Scott!"

One of the drones plowed into Virgil from the side and he nearly bit his tongue from the sheer force. His body slammed into the family bookcase with a sickening crunch and fell limply to the floor. Virgil's vision went black. He came to only moments later, ears still ringing from the blow, and reached for the motionless form of Scott beside him, sprawled like a discarded marionette. At the sight of their fallen prey, Virgil's robotic entourage advanced with reckless abandon, raising their hinged piercers to strike.

"Stand down," came the guttural command. The drones withdrew at once and nearly stumbled over themselves to comply with the latest request. Virgil rose to his feet, careful to plant himself in front of his brother's unconscious body. The voice came from the projected hologram amidst the circular couch, which had once served as the Thunderbird hub of command. The Mechanic. "Thunderbird Bravo. The Hood wants you alive."

"I could care less about what the Hood wants," Virgil spat. "Where's Kayo?" The muscular figure narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Foxtrot is no longer a concern." Virgil bristled at the vague answer even as the sharp ache of loss threatened to break his heart in two.

It was the same hollowed agony he'd felt after his mother's passing, and again, when his father went M.I.A. Kayo…his sister, his friend, his family, in all but blood. No, he refused to believe that she would meet her demise at the hands of the Hood's personal lapdog.

"You're lying," Virgil replied. The Mechanic ignored him, prompting the pilot to continue. Virgil's blood sang in his ears. In just over twenty-four hours, this monster had nearly killed two of their own, void of guilt or remorse as Scott and Gordon continued to suffer as a result of his actions. The pilot wanted to pound the expressionless face into oblivion and scream until his throat went raw from the effort. He worked his jaw, struggling to find the words to give voice to the surge of white-hot anger boiling in his core.

"It was HER piano," Virgil finally choked. He knew the statement sounded weak in his own ears, but his frayed nerves looped the phrase like a mantra. "You took her away from me again. It was hers!"

"You're needed alive," the Mechanic said tersely, disregarding his outburst. "I'm under orders to bring you with me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Virgil barked. He stood his ground, despite the slight trembling in his legs. "Tell the Hood that he'd better get used to disappointment." The Mechanic studied him for a moment as if judging Virgil's resolve. He then dropped his gaze to Scott's motionless form.

"How many men are you willing to sacrifice at the cost of Thunderbird Five?"

"Stop it." Virgil's tone was acidic.

"It doesn't surprise me that I was able to decimate your forces so easily. After all, Alpha failed in his capacity as commander of International Rescue."

"I said that's enough," Virgil growled, but his objections went unheeded.

"Statistically, he spent the most time communicating with Thunderbird Five. Did you know that he recorded every casualty with Echo, keeping a log of the victims he couldn't save?" Virgil blinked. "Or that he confided in Echo that he's already prepared his will, in the event that he simply disappears like the commander before him?" Virgil gaped at him, fists clenching and unclenching at the sight of the detached figure.

"Shut up!"

"Thunderbird Charlie also spoke with Echo frequently. Theoretically, he would be Echo's next point of contact. Where did you send him, Bravo? What coordinates did you give Thunderbird Three?"

Alan. He was talking about Alan. Virgil swore.

He stole a glance at his eldest brother, mesmerized by the slight lift and fall of Scott's chest. The medic committed his face to memory then scanned the room, eyes roving past the hologram that made his stomach churn so that he could focus on the tattered remnants of Scott's portrait on the wall. It was only after he sought comfort from Scott's flushed face for the second time that his sluggish brain realized what he was doing.

Virgil was saying goodbye.

"You'll have to kill me, then," he heard himself saying. "Because I'll never talk." The Mechanic's hand twitched and the drones surrounding the pair gave a collective shudder in response. Outmanned. Outmaneuvered. Virgil was suddenly glad that Scott wasn't awake to see his failures. He might as well have sentenced them both to death. If the Mechanic replied, Virgil was too far past caring to notice. He knelt by Scott's side and gripped one of his clammy hands in his own.

"Hey, I'm sorry Scott. Some commander I turned out to be, huh?" Images rushed past his vision, each one squeezing his heart tighter like a suffocating vice. Scott in the cockpit of Thunderbird One, struggling to remember Virgil's name. Gordon dragged into view by the Hood. Alan's look of pure betrayal when he ordered him to take the QRH. His father's room, in ruins. His mother's piano.

And then someone was screaming. He threw himself over Scott and squeezed his eyes shut while he waited for the final blow. After a few horrifying seconds he lifted his head. The drones were immobile. The flashing, red eyes had gone dark. The Mechanic's hologram had vanished.

"Virgil, this is FAB1. Parker and I have neutralized the Mechanic's aircraft for the time being. If you can hear me—" Virgil lifted his comm in pure relief, still cradled over his older brother.

"Lady P, I'm here. It's so good to hear your voice," he admitted. "I've got Scott. Tell me where to go." The medic lifted Scott into his arms and grunted as his world tipped around him. He remained upright and forced his way past the robotic sentries.

"I believe the beach down the steps from the pool should do," the London agent instructed. "Hurry along, Parker. No time to waste. We don't know how long we have until the Mechanic regains power."

"Yes m'lady," came Parker's automatic reply. Virgil exited the household and stumbled toward his newfound destination.

"Hang in there, Scott," he wheezed, hugging the eldest Tracy tighter. His feet hit the sand and his knees nearly buckled beneath him.

"We have you in sight, Virgil. We're coming to you." Virgil nodded numbly as he willed his steps to slow. He shielded his eyes as the pink exterior of FAB1 descended and landed with a muted thump in the soft sand. Parker and Lady Penelope were by his side within moments, asking questions that his exhausted brain couldn't answer. Lady P ushered him into the backseat with Scott still secured close to his chest. He didn't want to let him go.

"Onward, Parker," Lady P ordered with her usual finesse while FAB1 took to the sky. She sat in shotgun, a rarity all in its own, and turned to inspect her newest passengers with a sympathetic wince.

"Kayo sends her apologies, Virgil. The drones hijacked Thunderbird S's communications systems and she lost contact with you. She's safe," she added quickly, as Virgil locked eyes with her in concern. "Just nursing a bruised ego. We'll rendezvous with her shortly."

Virgil allowed himself a small smile and closed his eyes briefly. Thank God, his little sister was safe. His shoulders felt marginally lighter, as though he'd already been carrying the burden of her fate. He reopened his eyes and saw the British operative press her hand against the side of Scott's face.

"He fell unconscious. I couldn't wake him up." Virgil's voice cracked, but he refrained from stating his inner fear, the one he'd suspected ever since Scott had lost consciousness. What if his temperature had soared so high that he'd lapsed into a coma?

"It looks like those buggers are coming back for Round Two, m'lady," Parker said as gave the vehicle a quick lurch to the side. The drones were airborne, at the Mechanic's command once more.

"We got past them once, we can do it again," Lady P stated confidently. She directed her next statement at the weary Tracy brother. "We're going to give Scott the best care he can receive. Trust me, Virgil."

He wanted to trust her. He wanted to trust that he'd eventually be able to talk to Scott again, like old times, and see the face that so much resembled their Dad's light up into a warm smile.

"I know, Lady P," he eventually conceded, tightening his grip across Scott's torso as the vehicle gave another shudder. "I trust you."


	9. Chapter 9

Scott heard voices, distant and muffled to his ears, but he welcomed the sound with a sigh of content. His skin tinged with warmth as the constant hum of cadences almost brought a smile to his lips. His brothers were at it again, he mused. He briefly wondered if Gordon and Alan would try to pull one of their childish pranks while he drifted off to sleep by the pool. Well, Scott reasoned, he could always rally Virgil and John to his side to dish out some payback if the two youngest got carried away. He had an extra set of water pistols stashed in his room, if it came to a firefight. Scott's sluggish brain envisioned the mock battle through a series of hazy images.

Scott would take the largest water gun, of course. Being the eldest did come with its advantages. He frowned, realizing that by pulling out the "big brother" card he'd mark himself—and his prized weapon—as public enemy number one. Gordon and Alan would surely stop at nothing until they stole the water gun for themselves. The Thunderbird One pilot fought off the rising tide of fatigue. No—he couldn't fall back asleep. Not just yet. He had to be ready to spring into the offensive at a moment's notice. The voices above him quieted slightly and he felt the heat burn hotter against his skin. Were Gordon and Alan already hatching their plan for Tracy Island domination? He had to think quickly. C'mon, Scott, focus…

John. Of course! He was the unassuming sharp shooter out of the Tracy brothers, and his precision with any firearm—real or otherwise—was unmatched. Even Scott's military background couldn't compete with John's natural skill. That decided it, then. Scott would bestow his beloved water pistols to the space monitor in exchange for cover fire while he approached Gordon and Alan's makeshift stronghold. He grimaced as his thoughts suddenly derailed, leaving his newly crafted strategy slipping out of his hands like briny water. No, no, no! Scott struggled against the blanket of exhaustion that beckoned him under. The detached chatter grew louder and he grimaced at what that might entail. Gordon and Alan were coming back to the pool, he guessed, and what they had in store for him couldn't be pretty. Ice cubes down the back? Something worse?

The oldest Tracy's thoughts spiraled for a second time. The sun was getting hotter, roasting his exposed arms and chest. He grudgingly pushed his combat stratagem to the wayside while he concentrated on moving his leaden limbs. He tried to reach one of his hands skyward in a futile attempt to block the sweltering rays.

Virgil—he'd almost forgotten about their wild card. Scott imagined their resident medic toting a pack of water balloons—water grenades, he corrected himself, as this water warfare was serious business!—and securing their swift victory. Gordo and Als wouldn't know what hit 'em. Hmmm, but he hadn't accounted for the rival forces' dark horse, Kayo. Scott irritably scrapped his well-laid plans. If Kayo was thrown in the mix, he couldn't afford to be predictable. What if he took the pistols and Virgil manned the heavy artillery? That would leave John stationed with the grenades...but if the redhead was flanked from behind…No, that wouldn't work. They could split the ammo between them, but then they ran the risk of wasting resources. Scott's head spun from the effort. It was like an itch that demanded to be scratched. He had to figure this out, before Alan and Gordon came back and…and…

Too late. Scott felt pressure against his forehead. The voices were right above him, asking him something, calling him by name. He groaned, biting back a well-earned curse, and reflected on his impending fate. The rescuer silently prayed for the ice cube prank. What he wouldn't give for a refreshing splash of cool water. Serves you right for sleeping out in the sun, Scotty, he reprimanded himself. The last time he'd pulled such a foolhardy stunt, he'd suffered a sunburn so severe that wearing his mandatory IR flight suit had given him blisters. And now, here he was, playing with fire. Again.

"Scott, wake up for me, buddy."

Not on your life, Scott scowled inwardly. Why couldn't Alan and Gordon have their fun then leave him to burn to a crisp in peace? The weight on his forehead lessened slightly, replaced by a cool cloth that elicited a moan of thanks from its victim. "Hey, Scott. Wake up, okay?" Scott finally placed the voices, dimly realizing that there had only been one voice the whole time. Virgil. Thank his lucky stars, maybe they still had a fighting chance of stopping their youngest pranksters from initiating the next Tracy water war! He cracked his eyes open and winced as the bright lights overhead—not the sun?—bathed his prone body in a dull golden hue. Virgil's hand rested comfortingly against his bare shoulder. "Welcome back."

Scott surveyed his surroundings. The furnishings were extravagant, dotted with vases and portraits in outlandish colors and, quite possibly, with equally outlandish price tags. Even the silken bed sheets tucked around his torso were of the highest caliber.

"Lady P?" he managed, shocked at the raspy timbre of his own voice. Scott questioned his logic even as the feeble words left his mouth. He didn't see a hint of pink amidst the extravagant fabrics and refined wallpaper. A large bay window had been propped open and a gentle breeze caressed him as it passed. It felt wonderful.

"Nope, we're not at Lady P's place, although I wish we were," Virgil answered. He gave Scott's shoulder a brief squeeze before withdrawing his hand. "I'll fill you in later. I'd get you a beer, but I think I'll start a lightweight like you off with some ice chips."

"Maybe just this once," Scott agreed hoarsely. He allowed Virgil to help him take a few ice cubes at a time once he realized how disjointed and heavy his body felt during even the simplest of tasks. While he closed his eyes at the blessed relief of his fifth ice chip, Virgil began his customary checklist reserved for injured brothers unfortunate enough to land themselves in sick bay.

"Does anything hurt?" Virgil prompted. Scott attempted a shrug.

"No, not really." A pause. Scott cracked an eye open and saw his younger sibling fix him with a dubious stare. Oh, great. He'd provided an answer too vague for Doctor Virgil. He tried again. "I don't hurt anywhere, Virg."

"Nowhere?"

"Nope."

"Your head doesn't hurt? No headaches?"

"None." Another pause.

"You're sure? No headaches whatsoever?"

"No headaches. I'm fine."

"Really? No sharp pains, no migraines, nothing at all?" Virgil was smiling now, and Scott had to admit that his excitement over a simple headache was infectious. He grinned back.

"I'm fine, Virg." The accompanying hug surprised him and Scott had to will his clammy hands to return the tight embrace.

"God, Scott. Don't ever do that to me again." Virgil's words pierced through the elder Tracy's confusion, like a dam bursting from within. Scott remembered. The headaches. That terrible, unrelenting agony. Gordon's capture. He even remembered nearly puking his guts out over Virgil's boots—not his best moment, to be sure.

Scott took stock of his emotions. Being angry was an understatement. He was downright pissed to the point nuclear combustion. But it was a controlled, simmering heat that had nothing to do with his feverish body. He felt like a commander again. And he was ready for war.

Well, maybe after one more ice chip.


	10. Chapter 10

Scott was able to avoid the bulk of Doctor Virgil's impromptu checkup the moment Kayo burst through the ornate double doors and delivered her very own crushing hug.

"About time, Scott!" she admonished as she pulled away. "If you were planning on sleeping any longer, I was gonna wake you up myself."

"Little sis was just mad that I kept beating her at checkers," Virgil supplied with a smug grin. He shoved a thermometer into Scott's mouth without warning, and the eldest made a face at the unwanted intrusion.

"That's funny, because I seem to remember it the other way around," came Kayo's retort. The pair continued to bicker, steering the conversation to lighter topics, while Virgil checked Scott's temperature with a grunt of approval.

Kayo stepped to the side and spoke with Brains, Lady P and Parker via her wrist comm to relay news of Scott's improved condition. The eldest noticed that her clothes were decorated with streaks of oil, the lifeblood of one of their Thunderbirds. For a brief, dreamy moment, he half-heartedly hoped that she'd been repairing Thunderbird One for his return. But no, his beloved Thunderbird was gone, ripped apart from the inside out below the ocean's surface.

Scott realized that he'd never taken time to truly mourn for the Thunderbird he'd loved and lost. He'd designed and crafted the beautiful machinery alongside his father, and it had become the strongest tangible reminder of the man he might never see again. But those feelings could wait until later, when he was alone and could surrender to his pent-up sorrow in private. Instead, Scott summoned up the courage to ask Virgil the obvious.

"How long was I out for, Virg?" He noticed his brother grimace slightly.

"You didn't wake up for three days."

"Three days?" Scott repeated numbly. "But…Gordon. What about Gordon? John? Alan?"

"We don't know," Virgil answered softly. Scott was about to protest, but the baritone voice cut through his argument. "Scott, you have no idea what these past few days have been like. You almost didn't make it."

"But I DID make it," Scott pressed. He pushed himself up straighter in bed, despite the slight trembling in his arms. "And I'm ready to stop playing the victim. I know you are, too. So let's DO something about it!"

"I AM!" Virgil snapped, surprising both brothers with the uncharacteristic outburst. Kayo quickly ended the exchange with the trio through her wrist comm and cast Virgil a look of concern. He eventually slumped into a chair next to Scott's bedside and stared vacantly at the hands in his lap. "Sorry, Scott. I just…it's this place."

Virgil's choice of words—'this place'—implied that Scott was either an esteemed guest housed in a private ward or a prisoner confined to some sort of luxurious estate. He hoped it was the former, but the way Virgil carefully avoided his gaze caused the worry to gnaw at his gut. The eldest pressed the issue.

"Am I trapped here?"

"No," Virgil replied rather quickly, while Kayo groaned, "Yes" in the same breath. The pair exchanged glances over Scott's bedridden form.

"I-I mean, no," Kayo amended, only seconds before Virgil added, "Well, yes, technically—" They both quieted again, which only served to fuel Scott's frustration.

"So I AM a prisoner?" There was a long, weighty pause before Virgil succumbed to his older brother's questioning.

"I mean…yeah. Kinda. It's complicated, Scott."

"I think I can handle it, Virg," Scott huffed.

"And I think I'd better head back to Thunderbird S," Kayo said, intending to make her grand escape, but the sound of oncoming footsteps from the hallway stopped her in her tracks. She backpedaled inside the room. "Well, Scott, it looks like you'll be able to ask the man in charge yourself. For the record, Virgil and I had no choice."

Scott shot his younger brother a look.

"Surely it can't be THAT bad…" Scott regretted those very words once the aristocrat entered the furnished room with a flourish.

"Awake at last, I see. Pity that you had to miss the imported breakfast from Italy. Though, might I add, the wine of the hour was exquisite. Why don't you run along and fetch him a glass?" This was directed at Virgil, who stoutly ignored the crass command. The new arrival flopped lazily into a high-backed chair and propped his leg on one of his knees. "Yet all the Italian bistros and wineries in the world can't compare to the unexpected—but completely deserved—exclusive membership offered to me, billionaire—nearly trillionaire—adventure specialist, and charming TV personality with a flair for the dangerous and dramatic."

"Wait. Exclusive membership?" Scott croaked, as the familiar man straightened his GQ jacket.

"But of course. As an active operative of International Rescue, which I graciously accept. Although those flight suits are hideous and SOOO uncomfortable." He snapped his fingers, oblivious to Scott's increasing scowl. "Ah. The wine?" Before Virgil could rise from his chair to obey the command, punch the man's smug face or both, a second figure sprinted into the room with a camera held aloft.

"I thought I'd give you another hour or so to wake up, but then I thought, 'HEY BRRRAAAANNNDDDOOOONNN, why don't I check on Scott now? And I was like, totally right, brah."

Francois Lemaire and Brandon Berrenger. God help him.


	11. Chapter 11

Scott shoved the camera aside and made to rise from the bed.

"You are NOT a member of International Rescue." He felt Virgil push him firmly back against the silken sheets.

"I'm afraid that's where you're mistaken, Scott Tracy," Lemaire replied. "Your little sidekicks signed the paperwork this morning. It's official."

"Sidekicks?" Kayo muttered, clenching her jaw. "Oh, I'll show you a side kick." Brandon's camera loomed over Scott's face a second time and he resisted the urge to snap the lens in two.

"So, like, what do you think about a putting a snack bar in Thunderbird Two, for, you know, emergency rations? I figured you didn't have one, then I thought, HEY BBRRAANNDDDOONNN, why not add a bit of fun to the rescues? Boom. Snack bar. Perfect, right?" The eldest Tracy didn't bother answering and instead freed himself from Virgil's grasp and swung his feet off the side of the bed. He was wearing a pair of unfamiliar cargo shorts, as bright and obnoxious as the youth they belonged to. He decided that if Brandon and his camera irked him any further, he'd burn the shorts as retribution.

"Scott, about the offer—" Virgil began by way of explanation, but Scott returned his gaze to the pompous man sitting in the corner as he stood.

"I don't care what official paperwork you claim to have, because we're not recruiting."

"Ah, but I'm not your run-of-the-mill recruit. Your merry band of rescuers and I made a deal, and now I've come to collect. Besides, Thunderbird L has a nice ring to it," the billionaire said. Scott scowled. He refused to return to the buttery bed sheets despite Virgil's protests and slapped his brother's hands away.

"What deal are you talking about?" he demanded, feeling the heat rise in his neck.

"Your life in exchange for my membership," came the simple reply. Lemaire made a show of getting to his feet and spread his arms theatrically. "Of course, it was up to me, billionaire—nearly trillionaire—popular host and handsome hero of the uncharted wilderness, to save the day! My renowned personal doctor tended to your little illness, but please, don't give him all the credit. I'm the one who did all the legwork by having my secretary contact him out of the blue on such short notice. And then, I had to order one of my assistants to make arrangements for his expedited flight to my covert island and it was all quite an ordeal, to be honest. Ugh. Very exhausting. I'm still recovering from yesterday's headache." Scott's anger flooded to the surface, and, were it not for his lethargic reflexes and Virgil's grip on his shoulders, he would have socked the insufferable aristocrat across the face.

"YOU BLACKMAILED MY TEAM INTO ADDING YOU TO OUR ROSTER?"

"Blackmail is a rather _strong_ word," Lemaire countered. He leaned leisurely against the wall and rested an elbow on the immaculate fireplace. "Think of it as a lucrative business transaction. And, in exchange for my dashing talent and enormous popularity, you'll still get to putter around in those boxy little machines of yours. It's a win-win." Scott strained against his brother's arms that held him fast.

"BOXY LITTLE MACHINES?!"

"Well, _obviously_ , Thunderbird L, designed by yours truly, will be the jewel of the fleet. Cushioned chairs with back massagers, a built-in butler service, plush carpeting—"

"THERE IS NO THUNDERBIRD L!"

"My poor head…what I wouldn't give for another glass of that imported wine…Ah! What if we place the snack bar next to the winery? How clever. Sometimes I amaze myself," Lemaire continued, ignorant of the eldest airman's short fuse. Brandon bounced excitedly from foot to foot.

"Oh yeah! I, like, totally knew the snack bar was a good idea."

"THERE IS NO SNACK BAR!" Scott fumed. His newfound caretaker merely shrugged.

"Well, not _yet_."

Brandon chose that exact moment to wave the camera in front of Scott's face, and he retaliated with a strong right hook. In his haste he'd swung wild and missed the lens, but still counted Brandon's yelp of surprise as a small victory. He didn't realize that Kayo had joined forces with Virgil until he felt another pair of hands clamp around his torso.

"Scott! Take it easy!" Kayo snapped, echoing Virgil's sentiments as Scott continued to resist.

"THAT'S IT! WE'RE LEAVING!" He jerked his head toward the door. "GET ME TO THE AIRSTRIP. NOW."

Lemaire retreated to the door with languid steps.

"Ah. That. Yes, well, until my desired position in International Rescue is established, I thought it best to restrict any travel from my island base. As a security measure, you understand."

"DESIRED POSITION?" Scott heaved. The billionaire—nearly trillionaire—placed his hand over his heart in pure shock before responding.

"You honestly don't expect a man of my caliber, heavenly good looks, and pristine reputation to be anything but a commander, do you? That would be absurd!"

"OUT," Scott croaked. His body faltered from exhaustion, but he made sure the words stung. "GET. OUT." Lemaire and his chipper chief test pilot, unfazed by the cross demand, left the room as they continued their discussion of wineries and snack bars. Scott allowed Virgil and Kayo to guide him to the edge of the bed where he sat with a groan.

"Why didn't you guys just go to the GDF?" he asked numbly. He knew from personal experience that the GDF employed some of the best hospital staff known to modern medicine. Their facility would've been the logical choice for his condition. "I mean…seriously? Lemaire? You went to HIM instead of Colonel Casey?"

"Scott." Virgil took a seat next to him on the bed, his weary face stripped of its usual vigor. "Colonel Casey was placed under house arrest three days ago." Scott's stunned silence was answer enough. "Look, the GDF's been in lockdown ever since. Even Lady P's undercover network in London's been hacked. We couldn't go to the GDF for help."

"And we couldn't risk taking you to a public hospital in case the Hood and his Mechanic buddy decided to come back for round two, so we figured Lemaire's mansion would be the last place the Hood would think to look," Kayo added. At this next statement, her voice softened. "You were…well, you weren't in good shape. We didn't have a lot of time to decide. Virgil and I cut a deal with Lemaire in exchange for a private doctor and a hangar to hide Thunderbird S."

"And now we're stuck on his personal island," Virgil continued, and the bite returned to his words. "The drones did a number on Shadow. Kayo's baby isn't going anywhere for at least a few more days, and the only other planes Lemaire has stored away are too flashy to keep a low profile."

"So, what now? We just wait around until we get Shadow flying or Mr. Moneybags decides to lend us a plane?" the eldest brother said bitterly. He suddenly gripped Virgil's arm and gave it an earnest shake. "Thunderbird Two. We still have that. We could fly it to one of our safe houses and—Virg. Hey, are you listening? _Virgil_." Scott watched as his sibling stared unblinking at the floor in way of reply. He withdrew his hand from Virgil in alarm. "Whoa, sorry, Virg. I, uh—" He mouthed the words "help me" to Kayo across Virgil's bowed form. The operative fumbled through a vague reply.

"Thunderbird Two's…inoperable."

"So it was also attacked by drones? How bad is it?" Scott pressed. He paused, recalling Kayo's earlier statement. "Hold on. Part of your deal with Lemaire was to house Thunderbird S, but you didn't say anything about Thunderbird Two. That's how Virgil and I escaped from Tracy Island, right?" He returned a comforting hand to Virgil's shoulder. "We made it to Thunderbird Two in time, right?"

"Not this time, Scotty," came Virgil's reply. "The Mechanic destroyed…everything. We barely got away." Scott swallowed hard, trying to ignore the newfound lump in his throat.

"Kayo?" he implored, his voice cracking as he sought her confirmation. She nodded somberly.

"I saw it all from the sky. The hangar, the house. There's nothing left." Scott raised a trembling hand to his face in horror.

"Oh my God." He turned to face his brother as the realization hit. That meant Virgil had to witness the destruction of their family home while carrying his unconscious body to safety. Their mother's things…her piano…their untouched father's room…Nothing but memories. It was almost enough to rip Scott's heart to shreds.

No. These warring emotions were only distractions. Scott allowed his commander mindset to take over and, almost callously, buried the unwanted feelings. He stood and the action took both pilots by surprise.

"You said Lemaire has other planes. I want to see them."

"Lemaire's locked them down. We can't just walk right up to one and fly away from this rock," Virgil scowled. Scott wasn't deterred.

"Just humor me, Virg. What kinds of planes does he have? Commercial? Private? Military?"

"Military, mostly," Kayo answered. She slumped her shoulders. "But even if we could pilot them, they're not nearly as advanced as our Thunderbirds." The eldest smiled despite himself.

"Unless…some of them ARE Thunderbirds."

"Okay, you lost me," Kayo said. Virgil bolted upright in understanding.

"F-16s! You think Lemaire might have F-16s stored away."

The mention of Scott's first pride and joy in the sky, well before the creation of Thunderbird One, made his blood sing.

"I'm counting on it," Scott said. "I've clocked in hundreds of hours with F-16s when I was a member of the Thunderbirds Air Demonstration Squadron."

"Yeah, over five years ago, when you were in the Air Force. Where are you going with this, Scott?" Virgil asked. The oldest sibling smirked.

"Well, we're gonna need at least three F-16s to pull it off."

"Pull what off?"

"A crazy plan of mine that'll hopefully destroy those drones once and for all." Scott made his way to the door with a new sense of determination. "C'mon, you two. Let's find out what our pal Lemaire has in his precious aircraft collection."


	12. Chapter 12

_Three Days Earlier…_

John received Virgil's summons and opened his vid-link to Scott's room, which was newly decorated with Grandma's burnt cookies scattered across the floor. He took a moment to study his oldest brother and smiled.

"Well, look who finally decided to wake up. How's the head?" John began as he shot Scott a grin.

"Could be better," the pilot admitted. "Especially since I can't remember how I bumped it in the first place." John traded glances with Virgil.

"About that, Scott. You probably won't remember much of anything since the landslide. You were injected with a narcotic of some kind. Brains is still analyzing the components. It wasn't pretty, Scott. Whatever it was, it was fast acting and interfered with your ability to pilot the plane."

While John tackled the debriefing, Virgil excused himself from Scott's bedside with the empty promise of breakfast in bed.

Ever since the attempt on Scott's life, John had been managing the front lines, coordinating with the GDF and Brains' scientific colleagues to determine the drug coursing through his brother's system and the mysterious mastermind behind it. And through it all, he'd observed the way the rest of his siblings succumbed to their grief.

Alan and Kayo were handling it the best, far more maturely than John had ever hoped. They'd stayed by Scott's side while he slept and assisted Brains anytime Doctor Virgil shooed them away to check their eldest brother's vitals. In fact, Alan had offered to switch places with John in Thunderbird Five and relieve him from the helm of communications.

"John, take a break. Be with Scott. I can shoulder some of the responsibility for awhile. Seriously, man, you look like you could use the help." John had merely pushed his brother's concerns aside.

"Thanks, Al, but it's crazy up here. Let me ride out the next two weeks of my rotation, then I'll take you up on that offer."

"Okay, if you say so," Alan had said with a shrug of his shoulders, leaving John to sort through the bureaucracy of the GDF.

John knew that Brains, Alan and Kayo were close to preparing a sample of the drug and a report of its horrid ingredients to the GDF's laboratory for further testing. Moffat herself was spearheading the effort from the GDF's home base.

Kayo and Alan, for the time being, were the least of John's worries. Virgil, however, was a different story.

Despite Virgil's insistence that Scott was past the worst of the drug's hold, John knew their medic was taking Scott's brush with death the hardest. After returning to Tracy Island, Virgil had taken it upon himself to analyze the data logs EOS had stored from Thunderbird One's mudslide rescue until John ordered him to stop.

"You've been at this for nearly five hours, Virgil. Get some rest. I'll let you know if something new comes up. Besides, I've got a backlog of emergency calls and I might have to send you out in Thunderbird Two." That statement seemed to have snapped the pilot out of his obsessive reverie, and Virgil had reluctantly set the files aside and retreated to the kitchen to witness Grandma Tracy burn a batch of chocolate chip cookies to place at Scott's bedside.

It was Gordon who concerned John most of all. His sibling had continuously avoided his calls, mostly confining himself to the hangar. John felt ashamed by the way he'd snapped at the young aquanaut mid-mission. He'd never threatened to tear control away from his brothers before, even though Thunderbird Five had the capability of piloting all of their vehicles remotely. He'd overreacted, and Gordon's cold shoulder was a gesture he rightly deserved. And yet…it wasn't like Gordon to nurture hurt feelings. John was at a loss. He could only hope to offer an olive branch of sorts and mend the rift his callous words may have caused. In the meantime, other matters demanded his attention. The most important one being Scott.

The space monitor completed the debriefing with his older brother and a huge part of him was relieved that Scott couldn't remember the more horrific events he'd been forced to witness up in Five. At the mention of Gordon's absence and the role he'd played in ending the submarine chase, John noticed Scott adopt his patented "elder brother" look of concern.

"John." Scott said. "You did the right thing." John ran a hand through his hair.

"I know, Scott. Let's hope that Gordon can see it eventually, too."

An incoming call from Colonel Casey snapped John to attention, and he winked at the pilot's weary face.

"Sorry, but I've got to take this. Stay out of trouble, Scott." He was met with a sarcastic reply from his sibling before he disconnected the line and switched comms.

"Colonel Casey. Perfect timing. I just got off the line with Scott. Looks like he's gonna make a full recovery." The colonel's relief was immediate.

"That's news worth waiting for. A victory in our book, at least. I've just received word from Professor Moffat. Once your engineer's completed his analysis of the drug's components, she's ready to proceed with the next phase of testing." An incoming call from Brains appeared on John's floating console.

"You may be in luck, Colonel. I'm patching Brains through now." John linked the conference call as the bespectacled man's hologram appeared nearly instantaneously. "Hey, Brains. I've got Colonel Casey with us. What'd you find out?"

"J-John. Colonel Casey." Brains rubbed his eyes and tried to hide his exhaustion. "I've discovered some n-new information about the narcotic. It appears that it was manufactured at an enterprise called Weston Pharmaceutical Company. I m-may need to run the sample through one of the GDF's global databases for a full b-breakdown of the components." The woman nodded curtly in agreement.

"Of course. All of our resources are at your disposal. Professor Moffat's on standby as we speak. A transport will arrive at Tracy Island within the hour for your departure."

"Th-thank you, Colonel," Brains said. He rummaged through his workspace to gather assorted equipment for the trip. "If it's not too much trouble, Mrs. Tracy would like to come along to help with the study."

"And her help is welcome. Anything we can do for the Thunderbirds," the woman replied, her voice softening. She turned to John.

"I'm assuming a full-frontal assault on the pharmaceutical company in question wouldn't be the best approach."

"Not likely. But I have someone in mind who may be able to take a peek inside without making waves." He paused as an emergency call started blinking on his radar, demanding his immediate attention. "Looks like we'll need to cut this conference short. Brains, let Kayo take point on this. Colonel, we'll touch base with you after Kayo's taken a closer look at that pharmaceutical company."

"F-FAB."

"Understood."

John, with the assistance of EOS, fielded the next flurry of emergency calls with deft precision, distributing the majority of them to local law enforcement and fire and rescue services. In the midst of the nonstop radio chatter, John allowed Kayo and Lady P access to Five's satellite imagery and provided a live feed of the pharmaceutical company's building. It was then that Lady P informed him that Scott would be assisting her and Kayo via comms from the Tracy lounge. John could only shake his head in amazement. The fact that his brother was able to take part in a mission so quickly after his accident was nothing short of a miracle.

About ten cups of coffee later—John had lost accurate count after five—he received a call reporting a minor cave-in. The small village affected didn't have the equipment needed to stage a rescue, prompting John to deploy Thunderbird Two for the job. At Scott's insistence, Alan tagged along and joined Virgil in the green rescue vehicle.

"JOHN! If you hear anything back from Brains while we're out on this rescue, you've GOTTA let me know! Him and Grandma left for the GDF, like, ten minutes ago!" Alan exclaimed mid-launch.

"No problem, Al. I'll keep you guys informed," John replied and stifled a yawn. He ended the transmission just as Thunderbird Two departed Tracy Island and stretched a hand behind his head. "EOS. Bagel me."

"I do not believe a fifteenth bagel would benefit you in your current state, John," the AI sniffed. John sighed.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Well, there's always coffee." He completed a half-hearted spin in zero gravity. "Uh. Where's my thermos?"

"I have currently detained it with the bagels."

"You're killing me, EOS."

"Incorrect. An electrical scan concludes the presence of premature ventricular contractions, most likely related to your increased caffeine consumption over the past twenty four hours—"

"Okay. I get it. No more bagels and coffee for the day." Another call lit up the touch screen, but EOS resolved the crisis before he could even touch the icon. "Hey!"

"I will intercept all emergency contacts for the time being and process accordingly. Data suggests you are in need of a break," EOS explained. John knew from past experience that arguing with this somewhat petulant program was a fight he had no chance of winning. Instead, he relented and allowed her the controls. He was about to drag himself off to bed and crash when a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Hey, EOS, connect me to the hangar. It's been awhile since I've checked up on Gordon." A pause then—

"Connection granted, John."

"Thanks, EOS." His tactile screen came to life and he watched as Gordon aggressively scrubbed the side of a suspiciously spotless Thunderbird Four. John frowned. Getting Gordon to clean Four was like trying to win the lottery without buying a ticket. Impossible.

"Hey, Gordo. Got a minute?" John asked. He took a deep breath and braced himself for Gordon's expected rebuff. The aquanaut didn't seem to hear him as he studiously wiped down the already flawless hull.

Gordon's clothing was covered in grime, suggesting that he'd spent a generous amount of time waxing his craft to blinding perfection. John knew each of his siblings had their own coping mechanisms, but excessive cleaning was not one of them. Especially when it came to Gordon.

The blonde jumped, as if he'd just noticed John's presence.

"John! Hey, man." The words were husky from misuse, evoking another grimace from the space monitor. "Is it time for the debriefing?" John blinked.

"Gordon, the debriefing ended hours ago."

"Wait. What?" Gordon paused in his mundane polishing then glanced at the digital clock on the wall and visibly stiffened. Almost as if he hadn't checked the time for twelve straight hours since he'd returned from the mission. "Wow. I didn't realize I'd missed it. Sorry, John, that's really unlike me…" While his brother sputtered for an explanation, John roved his eyes over the hodgepodge of cleaning equipment by Thunderbird Four's base and noticed a familiar bottle on the ground. Despite himself, he cracked a smile and had to will himself not to laugh.

"Hold on. Are you using Scott's _hair gel_ to wax Four?"

"Well, I ran out of all the wax in back, so I kinda…borrowed hair gel from Scott's room," came the guilty admission. "Figured it would work the same." John couldn't hold back the laugh any longer.

"Bet that didn't go over well with Scotty!"

"Yeah…he doesn't exactly know I took it…" John laughed even harder, earning a half-smile from the blonde in return.

"You'd better be glad he's still drowsy and dosed up on whatever meds Virgil gave him, or else he'd have your hide for sure." When it came to hair products in general, Scott and Virgil were connoisseurs of the art. And they didn't take kindly to their fellow siblings tampering with their expensive salon brands.

"I had to sneak it past Scott earlier. Lied and told him I was gonna go swim in the pool…" Gordon added, a spark of his personality returning. "You'd better not tell him!"

"Don't worry. Something tells me Scott has other things on his mind right now than his hair for once. But if he asks, I'll blame it on Virgil," John joked. Some of the tension left Gordon's shoulders and he gave John a slight nod.

"So, how was the debriefing? Scott's doing okay, right?" Gordon wiped down another section of the submarine while he talked.

"Scott's doing just fine. Kayo and Lady P already roped him into a mission. He's sitting on the couch running comms. Staying out of trouble, at least," John said with a shrug. "Listen, Gordon, I—"

"Wait, hold that thought!" Gordon said. He gave Thunderbird Four another once over before taking a step back. "How does it look, John? Did I miss a spot?"

"Looks pretty thorough to me," John admitted.

"You're sure? Like, REALLY sure? Because I can go over it again—"

John tried to hide his surprise. Gordon was considering waxing Thunderbird Four a _second_ time? This went way beyond any false assumptions of coping mechanisms or wounded pride. If his younger brother had reason to obsess over the physical appearance of his sub, something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Gordon. What's going on?" He was polite enough not to count the empty Redbull cans scattered around Gordon's feet. Apparently he wasn't the only one that had pulled an all-nighter. "Did something happen to Four?" Gordon scrambled to one of the work desks where he'd laid out an impressive schematic of his Thunderbird and pointed to the right wingtip on the paper.

"There. It happened right there. I'm sure of it." John briefly wondered if he should've counted those empty Redbull cans, after all.

"Sorry, Gords, but I really don't see anything out of the ordinary."

"At least, not _yet_!"

"You lost me."

"John, I've ran the scenario over and over in my head a thousand times. That sub _marked_ me. It tagged my Thunderbird somehow. I just know it." Gordon gestured to a series of barely legible equations he'd written across the graph paper. "I did the math. The pilot must've placed a tracker on one of my blind spots. Whoever that guy was, he wanted me to chase him. That's why it was so easy for me to get close to him. He baited me hook, line and sinker."

John pursed his lips as he digested Gordon's theory. That would mean that Gordon had set to work refurbishing Four the moment they landed back at Tracy Island, all because he thought Scott's would-be killer had attached a tracker to his rescue vehicle. Well, it certainly explained Gordon's mysterious absence. Even Gordon's alleged cold shoulder and unanswered summons were nothing more than his little brother losing track of time. But…There was still a major flaw in Gordon's assumption.

"Hold on, Gordon. You're saying that the sub led you into a chase, just so that it could place a tracker on your Thunderbird?" John ran a hand through his hair. "Brains built a sensor around Tracy Island to prevent that kind of thing. The proximity alarms would've gone off if the security system detected a foreign object on the vehicle."

"I know, I know. But you gotta admit, isn't it weird that the sub didn't shoot a missile at me when it had the chance?" Gordon continued, undeterred. He started to pace. "I got pretty up close and personal to that sub, and it looked like it was built for war. It was probably packing enough firepower to blow me to smithereens along with Thunderbird One." John let out a heavy sigh.

"I guess it's possible, but for all we know, that sub was only armed with two missiles at the time of the attack, and both of those were used to try to take down Scott. We don't know for sure that it had other weapons equipped. Besides, you've scrubbed everything down on Thunderbird Four. If something DID manage to get past our protocols, that heavy duty hair gel you're using probably took care of it."

"But, think about it. How did a sub like that get such high-tech missile technology?" Gordon pressed. "I mean, those missiles were fast enough to track Thunderbird One! You would think that a sub carrying around multi-million dollar weapons with military-grade equipment would be able to outrun me. It even had a head start."

"So now we're back to your earlier question: Why were you able to catch up to the sub and leave unharmed?" John rubbed his chin in thought. "You might have a point. I agree that the logic isn't adding up." At this, the diver's eyes lit up.

"You think there's a hidden tracker somewhere on Four too, huh? I KNEW it! You'll help me find it, right? You believe me, right?"

"I'm getting there. I just want to eliminate some possibilities first. EOS, can you scan Thunderbird Four for any irregularities?" John asked. The AI gave a small whirling noise, as if affronted that she'd be assigned such a mundane task.

"No irregularities reported."

"Okay, well, my gut instinct is saying that something's really, really, REALLY wrong here! I just can't shake the feeling that I've made a terrible mistake," Gordon said. John's features softened at the words.

"Gordon. None of this is on you."

"I shouldn't have followed that sub. You told me to turn back, but I was gaining on him and…well, I may have cost us everything." Gordon wrapped his arms around his torso. "I'm the one responsible if something happens to Tracy Island."

"Hey. That's not true. The only people we should be blaming are the ones who drugged Scott and shot him out of the sky," the redhead replied. He gave his brother a smirk. "Besides, I've got something better in mind than sitting around sulking. Ready to suit up for a test drive?"

"What? Really? But didn't EOS just say—"

"I know what she said. But _you_ know that Thunderbird inside and out, not EOS, and if you have a bad feeling about it, then it deserves a closer look." John ignored the bagel that hit him across the back of the head.

"A duplicate scan shows no irregularities. Further testing would prove unnecessary," EOS commented as she launched another bagel. John ducked to avoid the flying missile.

" _EOS_. I can and will stuff you in that Pac-Man simulator if you don't stop it." Despite the empty threat, the AI hesitated. It had taken John months, but he'd finally found a game she couldn't win. Mostly because he had manipulated the Pac-Man program to play on loop so the level never truly ended.

John liked to call it EOS's personal time out corner.

"The Pac-Man entity does not respond to my statistical attempts to reroute its intended path."

"Well, yeah. He's stuck in a maze, EOS. That's kind of the point. You can't just create a new pathway for him when you feel like it."

"And the entity is largely unequipped to defend itself from multiple attacks."

"He's a yellow dot with a mouth. I don't think he's equipped to do much of anything."

"John." EOS gave a whirling pout. "My earlier observation regarding Thunderbird Four still stands. Additional assessments would be futile."

"Then consider this part of my break. Just a training session between brothers," John said curtly. He glared at her to cut off any argument before turning back to an amused Gordon. "Okay, Gordon. Go ahead and launch. I'll have you take Four around the training trench and lower her at different depths. If we find anything out of the ordinary, then I'll alert Scott and the others. If not…" John gave his little brother a wink. "Then this will just be between us." He watched Gordon give a discernible sigh of relief as he ran to the changing rooms.

"Thanks, John! You're the best!"

"Hey, hold up, Gordon." John halted his brother as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Remember that suit Brains created for me when I accompanied Lady P to the charity auction?" Gordon made an obnoxious face.

"I mean, I know I can totally rock a suit, but I was kinda hoping to change into my wetsuit for this one—"

"No, it's not about the suit. It's about an accessory Brains made for it that I never got to try out. He put together an earpiece that's designed with its own frequency so the channel can't be hacked. Communication is actually wired through a secure GDF satellite so it won't interfere with Thunderbird Five's chatter." John floated to one of his storage compartments and fished the prototype out. "I didn't get much time to practice with it, but I know Brains recently installed one in every Thunderbird. He was planning to test them out during our next training session."

The look on Gordon's face was one of mock betrayal.

"Are you telling me that Brains lets you know what our training sessions will be _in advance_? Is THAT why you always get the high score?!"

"Well, I mean, uh, that's not important right now," John fumbled, placing the earpiece in his ear. "Besides, this means that we'll be able to have a private conversation without interrupting Scott, Virgil, or Alan's comms."

"Then let's do it!" Gordon resumed his sprint and, within minutes, had changed into his Thunderbird attire and was launching his craft into the warm ocean waters that surrounded Tracy Island. It briefly occurred to John that the only one physically left on Tracy Island was a still-recovering Scott. He immediately cast aside any feelings of doubt. Scott was safe. He'd be fine on his own for now. By his calculations, Virgil and Alan would be finishing up with their own rescue within the next half hour. Hopefully in that time, him and Gordon would have eliminated any and all possibilities of security breaches to Thunderbird Four.

"Whoa," Gordon said as he fitted the earpiece in place. "There's an echo or something. Brains might need to go back on the drawing board on this one."

"Well it _is_ a prototype. Plus the whole concept behind a military-grade, aeronautic, hack-free space radio really cuts down on the audio quality."

"Yeah. I can tell!"

Gordon approached the deep trenches located beyond the shallow reefs that surrounded Tracy Island. John kept an eye on Four's virtual stats, noting every blip and nuance that graced the screen.

"Everything's normal so far. But that doesn't mean we won't see something at a lower depth. It's all yours, Gordon."

"No sweat. Down we go," Gordon obliged as he began the descent. Ten minutes of relative inactivity passed with no substantial change. John debated calling it, as he figured it might be best to follow up with Virgil and Alan to see how their cave-in rescue fared, when an irregularity appeared on Thunderbird Four's scans. It was Gordon who noticed it first.

"John, check this out. I've never seen this error before. Hmm. What do you think?"

"I don't recognize it either," John frowned. He glanced at the AI and raised his eyebrows. "EOS?"

Her ring of lights acknowledged him with a flare of blue, but she remained silent. He gestured to the on-screen anomaly for emphasis. "Any ideas?" A pause, then—

"I do not see this irregularity you speak of, John."

"What?" This was spoken by both brothers in unison. John gaped at her.

"Are you sure?"

"There is no irregularity," she stated purposely. "All functions are performing at satisfactory levels."

"Uh, guys, this anomaly thing is getting stronger. I think it's trying to override my commands," Gordon said and John heard him give an audible gasp. "My monitor's freezing up on me. I'm losing control, John. Can you and EOS get it back?"

"Working on it," came the space monitor's response. He rifled through diagrams of Four's engineering know-how and addressed EOS as he eyed the floating figures and equations. "EOS, scan the entire system. We've got to figure out what's wrong." EOS's hesitation was unnerving.

"I do not sense any irregularities." Her voice wavered in confusion. "Thunderbird Four is operating within its established parameters."

"Yeah, tell that to the guy trapped in a sinking sub," Gordon remarked. "Hey, John, let's try to—"

A dozen alarms coursed through Thunderbird Five's interior and drowned out the rest of Gordon's sentence. John watched, in horror, as the overhead lights in the space station flickered and adopted a sickening crimson color his father had always warned him about. He had about a second to compose himself and take action.

A Class 5 catastrophe.

John didn't hesitate. He entered a manual code on his interfaced keyboard with cool detachment then slammed his fist against a button mounted on the wall. He hit the button a second time then braced himself as the gravity field took hold and dropped him to the floor.

John's knees buckled against the hard surface. He rolled to one side and clipped his elbow against a stack of secured equipment, biting back a silent cry. The red pulsing light withdrew, replaced by a blue haze that fell across the now silent outpost.

John's floating holograms and call logs had vanished along with the sounds of computerized beeping he'd long since grown accustomed to. EOS herself was a motionless shell of metal and plastic, and a sharp pang started to blossom inside John's chest as he realized what had transpired. The whole ordeal had taken less than five seconds.

And John, for all intents and purposes, had killed his Thunderbird.

"John? _John_!"

The panicked voice inside John's ear spurred him to action. He rose to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain from both scraped knees.

"Gordon. Good, you can still hear me." John was surprised at how composed his voice sounded, considering that his heart felt like it would burst from his chest. "Look, I've lost contact with Thunderbird Four. I'll spare you the details later. Right now we've got to work on getting you out of there. Have you managed to gain control back?" He unlocked a nearby compartment and unplugged a wallet-sized device from its bundle of connected cords.

"Something's got me, John," Gordon said between breaths. John paused in his antics to concentrate on Gordon's words through the odd echo interference from the earpiece.

"Who's got you? The sub?"

"Yeah. The same one from before. It deployed some kind of mechanical drones. About six of them have latched onto Four." John heard the sound of metal upon metal, which explained Gordon's labored breathing. "I'm gonna try to barricade the door. It might buy me a few seconds." John swallowed, even as that cool detachment coursed through him again like a soothing balm. The question wasn't an easy one, but it had to be asked.

"And your wrist comm?"

"I've already disabled it," Gordon replied, his voice gaining strength. "And I've wiped my Thunderbird's data stores."

"Good," John repeated. He fiddled with the object in his hands again. "Now that we've prepared for your untimely demise, let's make sure it doesn't come to that."

John hoped that Gordon couldn't see past his false bravado. Whoever had masterminded this recent attack on Four had attempted to hack into Five's communication brainstem at the same time.

And almost succeeded.

This level of cyber theft was beyond the realm of anything John had ever seen. And he had a sudden suspicion that perhaps this space station had been the target all along, with Scott and Gordon being the unwitting pawns needed to lure him into lowering his defenses.

Or, at least, lowering _EOS's_ defenses.

John's mind created a half-dozen theories, some sensible, others outlandish, before his thoughts cemented around one theory in particular.

That Gordon had been right all along. The sub had tagged Thunderbird Four with a highly elaborate tracking system that somehow cloaked itself from both EOS and Tracy Island's security system. Which carried another problem, one John had been loath to consider from the very beginning: their new enemy knew the location of Tracy Island.

This attacker then simply waited until Four reappeared before striking again. At this part in his theory, John tugged at the frays of the obvious loophole. Why Four? Assuming that the tracker had been active for nearly twelve hours since Scott's craft had been shot down, their faceless nemesis could've attacked the island at any point in time. John didn't have an answer. He only knew that Gordon had been the next target as a way to get to Five. He closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his face.

Enough theories. John turned his attention to the cold hard facts.

He'd been forced to initiate Class 5 in order to stop the hacker from crippling his system from the inside out. It wasn't a pretty solution, but it achieved the desired result. International Rescue's most important Thunderbird was safe from falling into enemy hands…at a price.

John was now trapped in a space station with no means of receiving or sending communications. Five was under lockdown that rendered the orbiting hub virtually invisible, to both friend and foe. John recalled the QRC, which had described this exact scenario as "going dark". It was a last resort measure and, quite frankly, one that both Jeff Tracy and John had never thought would actually be needed. But John still remembered the talk he'd had with his father, a similar talk he was sure all of his brothers had received once they were fit to command their own rescue vehicles.

It was a talk about life and sacrifice and protecting those who found themselves in circumstances where they couldn't protect themselves.

"There's a reason why I call this a Class 5, John," his father had told him as the two men padded across the beach while the low tide lapped at their ankles. "Because there are five of you boys. Five men who know the risks that come with committing themselves to International Rescue." Even now, John could see the tired lines of Jeff Tracy's face. "If Thunderbird Five goes dark, I need you to understand the consequences."

In the end, those consequences had been simple. A Class 5 catastrophe was designed to shut down Thunderbird Five to the point where, even if discovered, it would be nothing more than a useless hunk of floating metal. It wasn't exactly designed for keeping its pilot alive.

John knew he had a healthy reserve of basic amenities and an oxygen recycling system that would keep him breathing for at least a week. But without access to any data, communications, a strong radio signal from Five for his wrist comm, or an automated log of his position in the sky, he could very well die out here.

Except he _did_ have one Ace up his sleeve. It came in the form of a blonde brother named Gordon, who was currently trying to keep himself alive as well.

John opened the small box in his hands, revealing a weathered handheld gaming console. Or, more affectionately, EOS's personal time out corner. If he was lucky, EOS had holed herself up in the Pac-Man simulator when things went south. And if he was _extremely_ lucky, she still had enough faculties intact for him to rebuild her from the ground up.

"All right, Gordon. Give me an update on that sub of yours. We're not gonna let it end this way."


End file.
